


Underneath Your Skin

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Background Pairing - Aramis/d'Artagnan, Crossdressing, Genderqueer, Genderqueer Character, Genderqueer d'Artagnan, Homophobia, Lingerie, M/M, Minor Violence, Porn Porn & More Porn, Schmoop, Trans Discussion, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 78,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musketeers modern AU. Athos hates his job and the only good thing in his life is his boyfriend, Porthos. His world then falls apart when he comes home early and discovers that Porthos has a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzie_Shooter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/gifts).



It was six o'clock in the evening, pitch dark already and the rain was bucketing down -- a pretty normal state of affairs for the end of October in London. 

Athos tried hard to ignore the warm welcome of his local, its doors open wide and beckoning him inside, but he'd had such a shit day at work that he was drawn in on a tractor beam. He'd just have the one, he promised himself as he sank down onto his favorite bar stool. He had every reason to go home, so why then was he here? 

Taking his phone out of his inside pocket, he texted quickly: _Held up in a meeting. Back in a couple of hours. Love you._

Why was it so much easier to type those final two words than it was to say them? 

The reply came quickly: _k bae. c u l8r. <3_

Athos sighed and put the phone back in his pocket. Would it kill Porthos to use actual English? He wasn't a teenager. He'd just had his thirtieth birthday, for god's sake. 

"Usual?" said the grey haired barman.

Athos nodded. They were familiar to each other as customer and member of staff, but had never considered chatting, something he appreciated very much. This grubby little pub was his favourite place to hang out, although there was something different about the ambience in here tonight. The bar was decorated with gaudy orange streamers and inflatable pumpkins, a warning sign for all those who retained some grip on normality. Athos looked at the banner strung from wall to wall and at the group of morons wandering in dressed as zombies and he knew he had to escape now or suffer some dreadful ritualistic nonsense. Downing his pint in one, followed immediately by the whisky chaser, he jumped up, chucking a twenty at the barman, and then made a swift exit. Halloween was no night to be out and about.

The double shot of scotch hit him as he arrived back at the flat and he made a hash of getting in, trying every key but the right one until he finally succeeded in opening the door.

"I thought you were going to be late," said Porthos appearing from the bedroom, glowing with good health and putting on his leather jacket.

"The meeting was a waste of time," said Athos and it wasn't a lie. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers, ruining the sleek lines of his suit, and stared in despair at the neat rows of floorboards, wondering how long he could keep up this pretence of being competent at his job. He didn't even know what a compliance manager was supposed to do, for fuck's sake. "I escaped early."

"At least I get to see you for a few minutes before my class," said Porthos brightly. "Cuppa?"

Athos wondered when it was they had stopped kissing each other hello and goodbye. "Yeah, sure," he said following him through to the kitchen. "How was your day?"

Porthos also slogged back and forth to the city on a daily basis, wearing his best suit and shined up shoes, but at least he did something worthwhile with his time, heading up a charity that ensured underprivileged kids got the resources they needed to complete their education.

"Really good," he said, a huge grin on his face. "We did a presentation to one of the big insurance companies and got a pledge of three hundred thousand quid. I was bloody gobsmacked."

Athos smiled genuinely for the first time that day. "It's because you believe in what you're doing," he said as Porthos handed him his mug of tea. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Porthos swilling his down in a hurry. "Gotta love you and leave you or I'll be late for my class." 

He brushed an unexpected kiss to Athos' lips. It was warm, all sweet with sugar, and Athos wanted so much to ask him to stay in for a change. They hadn't had a proper evening together for weeks. Or had it been months? He said nothing, however, and watched Porthos leave.

Alone in the flat, he switched the television on for company then poured himself a large wine and picked at a plate of chicken noodle salad that Porthos had left for him in the fridge. His head was thumping and after refilling his glass, he wandered through to the bedroom and took off his suit jacket, hanging it neatly in the wardrobe. It was as he turned back to the bed that he noticed something odd poking out from underneath the divan and bent down to pick it up. In many other houses the discovery would be nothing unusual, but here there was no excuse at all for finding a pair of black lace panties, damp to the touch and smelling distinctly of sex. It made him gag.

The first sensation coursing through him was anger. Stuffing the filthy item back under the bed, he sank down heavily on the mattress, head in his hands. How could Porthos cheat on him? They'd been in a relationship for five years, living together for three of those. 

Anger then turned to regret when Athos realised that for the past year, since he'd made the mistake of taking this new job, they'd been little more than passing strangers, sharing a flat rather than sharing lives. Time sharing the bed, with Athos drinking too much then snoring because of it and Porthos staying up late, chatting to friends on Facebook.

Regret finally turned to sadness when Athos realised what he'd lost. Fetching the remains of the wine, plus a bottle of scotch, he tried to dull the pain with alcohol, but it only highlighted his inadequacies. In the end, he gave way to his misery and with the duvet over his head and tears running down his cheeks, he imagined Porthos making love to his girlfriend right here in their bed. 

\---

"You got drunk again yesterday," said Porthos reproachfully.

"It was Friday night and I was on my own," snapped Athos. His head was once again killing him. Surely he should be immune to hangovers by now? "What did you think I was going to do?" He dry swallowed some painkillers. "At least I was where you expected me to be." He heaped on the sarcasm. "How was French class, mon chou? Learn anything new."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Porthos, glaring at him. "I'm trying my best. You could always help me."

"How many people do evening classes on Fridays?" Athos poured himself a black coffee.

"I do," said Porthos. "I'm doing it for us, remember?"

Athos didn't bother answering. He was struggling, at this particular minute, to believe in that planned for future in which they were going to take over his crumbling family estate in France and turned it into a rural idyll. He didn't fancy running La Fère as a business with Porthos and the wearer of the lace panties, who must carry spares around with her in the event of sexual emergencies.

After an uncomfortable couple of hours, they called time on the argument and were now giving each other a dose of the silent treatment as they got on with the weekly grocery shop in Sainsbury's. Porthos glowered as Athos filled half the trolley with booze and ready meals so Athos, in retaliation, sneered at Porthos' bulk purchase of quinoa and lentils with half a ton of vegetables to go with them.

"At least I'll live past forty," muttered Porthos as he waited for Athos at the cigarette counter.

"You'd honestly care if I didn't?" said Athos, pocketing his pack of Marlboro Lights and suddenly the pain in his chest was so bad he wondered if Porthos was right and he was actually going to have a heart attack right here in the supermarket, but then his eyes began to sting indicating a different reason for the ache inside him. "Wait here. I need a piss," he said and charged off full pelt in the direction of the loos. 

Splashing water onto his face, he waiting for the burden of unhappiness to subside and looked at himself in the mirror for the first time in months. The harsh fluorescent bulb highlighted every line, every bag. His eyes were bloodshot. His skin was grey tissue paper, threaded with needle veins. He'd never been good looking but now he was a wreck. No wonder Porthos didn't want him.

"Athos!" said Porthos, waylaying him outside the toilets. "Of course I'd care. You _know_ that."

"Can we just go?" said Athos, leaving the supermarket and suffering the indignity of having no clue where he'd parked.

"This way," said Porthos in a low voice and, despite everything, the feel of that hand on the small of his back was a comfort.

Athos wanted to talk, he really did, but he had no idea how to bring up the subject of Porthos' infidelity without humiliating himself and bursting into tears. Instead, he helped load the shopping bags into the car and drove them back home to Islington, gritting his teeth all the way.

"I'm worried about you, babe," said Porthos. "You hardly say a word. You never finish a meal and we both know those bottles won't last the week. Let me take care of you. I love you."

The hypocrisy was too much and Athos turned on the radio to drown out the white noise coming from inside the car.

The rest of Saturday was spent doing mundane housework and catching up on a week's worth of washing. When Porthos nipped out to collect their suits from the dry cleaners at the end of the road, Athos eyed the bottle of scotch on the counter but, for once, he resisted. Whether it was down to Porthos' words or the look of his own sagging, decolourised reflection, he had no idea.

"I've been thinking," said Porthos when he returned, laying the plastic covered garments neatly over the back of the sofa. "We should go out tonight?" He looked excited. "Go see a gig. Do something different. Do _something_."

"What? With you eyeing every drop that passes my lips," said Athos. "I don't think so. I'm sure you can find someone else who'll go on a date with you at short notice." He watched curiously for a guilty reaction, but there was none. Instead all he see could on that handsome face was irritation tinged with a hefty dose of sadness.

"I s'pose I'll have to," Porthos said dispiritedly. "I'm not staying in to watch you drink yourself to death."

Athos kept an ear out all afternoon, but he heard no arrangements being made over the phone. Then again Porthos could have easily texted his girlfriend with an invitation to dinner.

Once the chores were completed, they switched on the television to ensure there was no more need for talking, and both men pretended to be absorbed in the Saturday sports results until Porthos got up from the sofa. 

"You know what," he said, glaring at Athos. "I'm going out now. I can't stand watching you mope around the flat, longing for a drink. I'll get out of your hair so you can fucking have one."

Ironically, for the first time in ages, Athos hadn't been wondering where his next glass was coming from. He'd been thinking instead about how very low it was to cheat on one's partner. Shrugging, he raised a careless eyebrow, but as soon as Porthos left the flat he was ready, following him down to the tube station where they took different carriages of the first inbound train to the West End, getting off at the usual stop and walking separately up to Oxford Street.

This was an unexpected turn of events, but then again Porthos did like shopping. Ignoring his favourite designers, the man darted inside a large, relatively old fashioned shop and Athos' heart sank when he realised that it sold nothing but lingerie. Lighting a cigarette he watched from across the road, surprised at how long Porthos was spending inside the building, but he supposed it was important to choose the right gift for a mistress before whacking out a load all over her knickers.

For some reason, it hurt even more when Porthos finally emerged onto the street carrying a pink paper bag with purple ribbon handles. He looked furtive and it was a shock to see him this way when he'd always been so open hearted and straightforward. At least so Athos had thought up until yesterday evening.

Porthos' next stop was at a relatively quiet back street pub. This made Athos doubly miserable because The Grapes had been one of their favourite haunts back when they used to go out clubbing, or spend the occasional Saturday night at the theatre. He peeked in through the small paned window to see Porthos nipping off to the gents and couldn't bear to watch any more of this story unfold. He wanted to know who Porthos was screwing, but discovered that he wasn't a brave enough man to unearth the truth in all its ugliness.

The journey back to Islington was a depressing one. Every train and bus was packed full of annoying people and so Athos walked most of the way, sloping past all the pubs on his usual crawl and going straight home to sit in silence, ignoring the call of the alcohol. He needed to be be clear headed to confront Porthos when he came home. If he came home at all.

At ten o'clock he heard the front door slam and tensed as Porthos strode in, all animal grace and beauty. 

"Did you have a nice time?" he asked and all might have been well if it wasn't for one thing.

Porthos seemed surprised, staring at him and then at the coffee mug on the table. "Was okay, I suppose," he said. "You look pissed off."

"I am pissed off," said Athos, folding his arms. "I'm wondering what happened to that pretty pink gift bag you were carrying this afternoon."

Porthos' skin turned a ruddier shade of brown. "I'm sorry?" He frowned. "You what? Were you fucking following me?"

"Yes," said Athos.

"I asked you to go out with me. You didn't need to sneak around," said Porthos incredulously. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you're having an affair and I wanted to see the woman you're screwing." Athos stared at Porthos. "I didn't get to, by the way. It turns out I'm too much of coward."

"I'm not having a fucking affair," said Porthos. "Whatever gave you that idea? Has Charon been spreading lies again?"

Athos stood up and walked off to the bedroom, returning a minute later with the dirty lace panties. Clearly Porthos hadn't known they were there. "Then how do you explain these?" he asked, dangling them in front of Porthos' nose. "How also do you explain the fact that you bought a bag load of lingerie today and came home without it?"

Porthos was hot with embarrassment and didn't know where to look. "I-" he began and then faltered. 

"Go on," said Athos, examining his nails. "I'm waiting."

"I promise you I'm not having an affair," muttered Porthos. "I love you. Isn't that enough?"

"No," said Athos, picking up the offensive panties again. "I found these yesterday when I came home. They were still wet with your spunk." Porthos looked so dreadfully uncomfortable that Athos' heart went out to him, but he couldn't relent. He needed to know what was going on or there was no hope left for them, love or not. "Just tell me the truth."

Porthos reached into the deep inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out pair after pair of knickers: silk, satin, lace in an array of colours. "I threw the bag away," he said and there was a tear running down from the corner of his eye. "I was going to hide them with the others."

"I don't understand," said Athos. Why would anyone want to hide women's pants?

Porthos sank down into an armchair and buried his face in his hands. "Well, you know how we haven't really been getting up to much in the bedroom? Not for a while?"

Now it was Athos' turn to blush scarlet, coincidentally the colour of one of the incriminating pairs of underwear. He'd been too miserable, too drunk, lacking in confidence. Their sex life had slowly but surely dwindled down to zero. "Yes," he said in a hushed voice. Should he apologise?

"The thing is-" Porthos stood up. "I need a drink. Do you need a drink? Stupid question, you always need a drink."

Athos felt the embarrassment piling onto his shoulders. Wasn't this supposed to be about Porthos? "I just need an explanation," he said quietly.

Porthos poured two large whiskies and handed one to Athos. "See, when you've been drunk and I've been alone I've been kind of discovering things about myself. Things I enjoy." He took a large gulp of whisky. "I've always liked women's underwear. It's so tactile: soft, slinky, stretchy, rough. I love the feel of it against me." He paused. "Look, I like to wear panties, okay." He glanced at Athos. "You're not laughing," he said in a gruff voice. "I was sure you'd laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing." Athos' reaction to this news was most unexpected, his imagination going into overdrive as he thought of Porthos sneakily trying on a pair of panties, so excited that he had to rub himself off in them. "So about yesterday?"

"You said you were going to be another couple of hours." Porthos knocked back the rest of his whisky. "I took my clothes off and slipped on those pants. They're my favourite, all rough and clingy. I was having a nice slow wank, watching myself in the mirror and I knew time was tight and I'd have to finish off soon or I'd be late for class, but it felt so good."

Athos gulped down his scotch then fetched the bottle over to top them both up. His heart was thumping. His cock was as hard as iron just listening to Porthos talk openly about his secret.

"I heard the key in the lock and then I panicked and came all over myself." Porthos raised his glass in a toast and almost grinned. "Worst orgasm ever, thanks to you. All the mess and none of the buzz."

"Sorry," said Athos, his mouth tipping upwards into a half smile.

"I wiped myself down and got dressed so fucking quickly," said Porthos. "I heard you come in and I kicked the knickers under the bed. I meant to sort them out later, but I forgot." He glanced at Athos. "You're not mad at me?"

"I thought you were having an affair." Athos adjusted himself. "Of course I'm not angry. Not now I know the truth."

"And you honestly don't think it's funny?"

Athos shook his head.

"Or weird?" added Porthos.

Athos shrugged. "It _is_ a little strange," he admitted, cursing his stupidity when Porthos shrank into himself. "But I'm interested. Can I see you wearing them?"

"You mean it?" Porthos looked him fully in the eye for the first time since he'd begun this confession.

Athos could hardly speak he was so excited. "I do."

Expecting Porthos to go into the bedroom to change, he was surprised when the man unbuckled his belt and then began to unbutton his flies.

"You're wearing some?" he asked and then he remembered Porthos nipping into the pub toilet. "You changed at The Grapes."

Porthos nodded. "I loved these ones so much I needed to put them straight on. I like wearing them under my normal clothes. I get a kick out of it."

"You were going to come home and have a wank," said Athos, understanding now why Porthos was so early. "You thought I'd be drunk."

Porthos nodded. "I was certain you'd be out cold after the day we'd had."

Athos gulped. "Show me," he said, his eyes fixed on that partially opened fly. He could see a hint of blue peeking out and he let a tiny whine of arousal escape him.

"You like this?" said Porthos and he looked amazed.

Athos lifted his shirt to show Porthos the extent of his erection. "Show me," he repeated. "Please."

Encouraged by this, Porthos unfastened his flies fully and tugged the denim aside to give Athos a first look at his unusual underwear. The panties were a deep shade of aqua and the material had a soft sheen to it. They were threaded with black ribbon and without doubt they were a pretty pair of underwear, but it was the sight of Porthos' cock, semi-erect and tightly encased within the knickers, that took Athos' breath away.

"May I?" he asked, husky with need, and when Porthos nodded he fell to his knees and crawled between Porthos' spread legs. 

He palmed those heavy balls that were fighting to free themselves from the flimsy but restrictive material and stuttered in a breath of air. "Can I undress you?"

Again Porthos nodded, reaching for his glass of whisky and taking a sip, his eyes never leaving Athos.

Slipping each shoe off, Athos massaged Porthos' bare feet and then stood, helping him out of his sweater and t-shirt until he was wearing nothing but his jeans and those wonderful panties. He knelt again, leaning forward and running his hands up Porthos' thighs. They stared at one another intently, this shared thrill an unexpected and delightful adventure.

"Take my jeans off," said Porthos. "I want you to see all of me."

Athos obeyed, tugging the trousers down and then removing them fully. Resting back on his haunches, he took in the incredible sight of his boyfriend, that muscular body and gorgeous dark skin a wonderful contrast to the skimpy pair of pants. Unable to control his urges any longer, he leant in and pressed his face against the taut material, breathing in the scent of Porthos' arousal.

Porthos growled--it was an actual _growl_ \--pushing Athos back a little and standing with his legs spread, showing himself off and then turning a full three sixty. "How do I look?"

"Gorgeous," said Athos, his voice roughened with need.

Hands clasping around Porthos' thighs, he licked at the material, sucking the trickle of precome through that thin slinky barrier. He was so aroused by now that there was nothing he could do but unfasten his chinos and hook his straining cock through the opening. 

"Lie on the couch," he instructed, swallowing down his excitement and squeezing the base of his prick as he watched Porthos comply.

"You really do like this."

"You think?" Athos raised an eyebrow and smirked. He was on the verge of having the biggest orgasm of his life and had hardly even touched himself.

Kneeling at the end of the couch, he kissed each of Porthos' toes and then worked his way upwards, sucking bruises onto the soft skin of Porthos' inner thighs and then mouthing at the mound of his erection until there was a low rumble of arousal.

"Come here," said Porthos, holding out his arms. "I need to kiss you."

Athos spread himself out, breath hitching when his cock made contact with an echo of hardness encased in satin. It was hot and damp, all slippery smooth and, unable to stop himself, he bucked his hips and began a slow grind.

"Feels so good," he said, pulling back startled to stare at Porthos. "You look so fucking good."

Porthos linked both hands around Athos' neck and pulled him in. "I love you," he said. "I'd never cheat on you."

Flustered, Athos touched his lips to Porthos'. It seemed like a lifetime since they'd been this close, and he was almost scared, afraid that he'd ruin the moment, but as their tongues met and the kiss turned from soft to sensual finally evolving into something frantic, he let go of all his fears. Bound together like this, cocks separated by that slinky barrier, they kissed and rubbed, touched and moaned until there was nothing Athos could do but come.

"Baby," said Porthos, burying himself in Athos' neck and arching up against him, feverish hot with excitement and an answering rush of semen.

"That was rather quick," said Athos, a self deprecating smile on his face as he tucked himself neatly around Porthos.

"And messy," laughed Porthos. "Your chinos are in a right state." He kissed Athos on the cheek. "But you're the best."


	2. Chapter 2

"We should talk," said Athos.

A set of dirty clothes had been discarded on the bathroom floor, topped off with a small pair of come covered undies, and the two men were now having a shower together.

"I think we've done enough talking," said Porthos, wrapping his arms around Athos. "It's nice just to be close again. I missed you."

"I missed you too," said Athos. "Dreadfully, in fact." He pulled back a little in order to rub shampoo into Porthos' hair. "Who knew a pair of a knickers could possess such incredible healing power?"

They simultaneously hardened at the words and then laughed at one another.

"Powerful indeed," said Porthos and then he lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. "I have some others I'd like to show you."

"Can I tell you something first?" asked Athos anxiously. This new path they had veered off onto was a wonderful and surprising panacea, but he needed Porthos to understand _why_ things had been going so wrong for him recently. "My drinking has nothing to do with you. I'm proud of you. I adore you. I love you." There, he'd said it. "But I hate my job so much." Hopefully the water would hide his tears. "I can't hack it, Porthos. I don't know what I'm doing. I feel sick having to go into work every day."

Porthos held him close and rocked him from side to side. "You idiot man," he murmured. "You should've told me how bad things were. Quit. Hand in your notice on Monday. We'll get by on my salary until you find something else. I don't care if you never work again."

Athos was so messed up he was now sobbing with relief, clinging on to Porthos for grim death as he did so.

"This is lovely and all," said Porthos after a while. "But can I rinse off the lather? It's getting in my eyes and making me cry too."

"We need some no more tears baby shampoo," said Athos, aiming the shower spray at Porthos.

"No more tears," smiled Porthos, resting his hand against Athos' cheek. "That sounds like a plan."

Out of the shower and all dried off, Porthos glanced sideways at Athos. "Are you tired?" he asked with a distinctly hopeful smile.

"Nope." Athos lounged on the bed, recharged and revitalised. "I believe you had something you wanted to show me."

He watched Porthos lope around to the fitted wardrobe then reach upwards to the top corner of the high level shelf. The mood lighting in the bedroom showed off the muscular contours of his body and although Athos felt very much in awe of having such a gorgeous boyfriend, he was finally a little more comfortable. He'd been feeling increasingly unsure of himself, never quite knowing _why_ Porthos wanted to be with him. Maybe he simply did and there was no need to keep questioning it.

"I hide your presents on the other side," he said with a grin.

"You do?" Porthos looked shocked. "I picked a shit place then. How do you reach up so high?"

Athos grinned. "I use the little steps we keep at the back."

"Fuck me, I've been dumb." 

"Your sock drawer may have been a better place."

Porthos found what he was looking for and nipped into the bathroom to put them on. Athos wasn't sure what to expect, maybe something more risqué, crotchless perhaps, but instead Porthos emerged in a diaphanous pair of black silk french knickers and again it was the contrast that did Athos in. There was no way in hell he could hide his excitement. His erection was instantaneous and he scrambled off the bed, cock bouncing as he fell to the floor and pressed his face against Porthos, nuzzling at his crotch.

"You slay me in the best way ever. You're fucking awesome," murmured Porthos. "God, Athos. _Athos_."

His fingers were twined into Athos' hair. He crooned his name twice more and Athos moaned in response, mouthing his way up the silken thick shaft that nudged against an elastic boundary. He nibbled at Porthos, taking him deep into his mouth, licking, sucking, then finally lifting the loose material over to one side of that gorgeous cock, letting it drape prettily and partially cover Porthos' balls. He looked stunning.

"If I had a photograph of this I'd toss myself off all day long to it," Athos said in wonder, watching as a clear dribble of precome leaked from the slit. Catching it, he rubbed the fluid over the sensitive ridge of skin on his own cock.

"You don't need pics, darling," said Porthos, tugging gently at his hair until he looked upwards. "You got me and you can have me, whenever you want."

Athos leant forward, taking Porthos fully into his mouth and exploring him with his tongue. With one hand rucking up silk, he wet his middle finger and worked it inside, teasing him with the glide of the material and a gentle sucking.

Overwhelmed, Porthos pulled away and sank to his knees, cupping Athos' face and kissing him thoroughly. "I want you to fuck me."

"I'll get the lube," said Athos. 

The drawer was empty and told a thousand tales of their lengthy barren spell, but thankfully there was some in the bathroom cabinet. When Athos returned, Porthos was on all fours on the bed, looking at himself in the mirror.

"Like what you see?" smiled Athos. Porthos worked hard at keeping his body in perfect condition and had every right to admire his efforts.

"I do," he admitted. "I like the way they fall. I like the colour against my skin."

"I like you in them," breathed Athos, kneeling up behind and stroking a finger down the arch of that spine.

Porthos shimmied his hips, presenting himself to Athos. "I like you in me."

Athos took his time making certain Porthos was ready and all the while he was prepping him, he panicked about the presence of that mirror. The last time he'd looked at his reflection he'd been disgusted and that was when he was fully clothed. He was overly thin and deathly pale. Too much stress and too much booze had not been kind to either his body, or his mind.

"Athos please. I need you to fuck me now."

Porthos sounded desperate for him and it was irresistible. Pushing his worries aside and coating himself in slick, Athos held the base of his cock and slipped inside the loose silk until he was positioned ready. Keeping his eyes away from the dreaded mirror and fixed firmly on Porthos, he eased in, biting his lip to focus on the pain and stop himself from coming instantly. It had been so long.

"Look at us," moaned Porthos. "We're beautiful together."

Athos risked a glance. The warm light did wonders for his sallow complexion and, ruddy with arousal, he appeared almost reasonable. Porthos, however, looked astounding, breathtaking in fact, and the sight of his silk coated cock dripping with fluid, leaking through the delicate fabric was too much. Athos reached for him, stroking him off in time with his own thrusts and life became a heady rush of animal, physical need.

As Porthos clenched around him, a herald to the arrival of his climax, Athos pulled out and jerked them off together, his knob pressed against the living warmth of those panties. Breath harsh in his throat he let loose, semen pooling against brown skin and black silk, with Porthos reacting to this and coming in shock waves, releasing thick jolts of sperm inside the knickers.

"Oh my god!" Porthos collapsed onto his side and looked up at Athos with wide eyes. "That was so good."

Athos cuddled in behind him and pulled the throw blanket around them. "I love you." The more he said it, the easier it became.

\---

In the morning Porthos was still wearing the knickers and Athos didn't give a damn about how dirty they were. Sliding in between skin and silk, he nudged him awake with his cock and kissed the back of his neck.

"I want to fuck you," he murmured.

"Now, that's lucky because I really want you to fuck me," smiled Porthos.

Words were replaced by actions and after half an hour of fun under the duvet they relaxed in each other's arms.

"Do you buy all your lingerie in that place on Oxford Street?" asked Athos.

"Yeah," said Porthos in a gruff voice. "I went in there once to get an idea of sizes and the assistants figured I was shopping for my girlfriend. It makes things easy."

"They have specialist shops in Soho," said Athos carefully.

Porthos turned to look at him and his distress was obvious. "I can't," he said. "I'd be too ashamed. This is all new to me."

"You've got nothing to be ashamed of, my love," said Athos. "You look absolutely stunning."

"Thank you." Porthos pressed a kiss to his lips. "But I honestly can't go into one of those places."

"What about buying online then?" said Athos.

Porthos looked even more embarrassed. "It all seems so seedy," he admitted. "Plus I like to know what the material feels like. I don't want to end up with some scratchy polyester wrapped around my balls."

Athos laughed. "Okay, fair enough. It's your kink to play with."

"And yours," smiled Porthos. "Me and my knickers are all yours."

After a long lie in, snuggled up together and chatting quietly, they finally dragged themselves out of bed.

"Go write that letter of resignation," said Porthos, handing Athos a mug of coffee and going over to the couch. "I'm not having my baby getting himself all worked up over a fucking job."

Athos discovered that he liked being Porthos' baby very much indeed. "You're sure about this?" he said, opening his laptop. 

"Too right I am," growled Porthos. "So get on with it before I spank your skinny arse."

It was an easy task to do. Athos still had his last resignation letter saved in a folder and all he had to do was check the period of notice required and amend the necessary details. "One more week and I can be free of compliances, whatever they are," he said, printing off the document and throwing himself onto the sofa next to Porthos.

"I'll keep you busy," said Porthos with a wink. "First thing I reckon we should do is go see your place at La Fère."

They'd been meaning to visit there for ages, but had found neither the time or the incentive. Now, Athos was fired up, imagining what it would be like to show Porthos his old home. Take the dust sheets off the furniture and fuck their hearts out in one of those big French beds. "I'd like that," he said with a smile.

"Then I'll book a week off ASAP," said Porthos, leaning in until he was nestled against Athos' side.


	3. Chapter 3

After a dreadful start, the remainder of the weekend turned into something wonderful. Love crazed and fueled on lust they'd never fucked as much, not even when they were infatuated and starting out on a life together. This was different; having laid themselves bare, the trust between them made the sex better than it had ever been before.

They'd been so wrapped up in each other that Monday morning came as a shock. 

"I'm going to miss you today," said Athos as they parted company at the Underground station.

"Come home quickly," said Porthos and then he hooked his arm around Athos' neck and pulled him in for a very loving and very intimate kiss goodbye. "I'm wearing something you'll like under my suit," he murmured.

"Tease," smirked Athos. "I'll spend all day thinking about that now."

"Don't wank off under the desk," said Porthos. "I want you ready to come all over my arse tonight."

"Christ, Porthos." Athos tried to control his erratic breathing. "How am I supposed to get through today after hearing that?"

"Show a little restraint," said Porthos with a wink, and pecking him on the lips he darted off up the steps, whistling as he went.

Happier than he had been in months, Athos signed in to the building and took the lift up to his floor.

"Morning, Jacques," he said to the kid who manned reception. "I need to see the boss. Is he available?"

"Yes, he is." The lad smiled at him. "You can go on through."

Mr Treville's office was a rather gloomy hole, not untidy exactly, but unkempt.

"Good morning," said Athos.

The man steepled his fingers and stared at him with intense blue eyes. "What bad news do you have for me then, Athos?"

"None really," said Athos, handing him the letter. "I'm leaving so you can employ someone who can actually do the job."

Treville snorted with laughter. "You could do this with your hands tied behind your back. You just don't want to."

Athos sighed and took a seat when his boss waved in the direction of the chair opposite him. "You may be right, but I'm not comfortable. I'd like to find something that makes me happy before it's too late."

"You really are a gloomy soul," said Treville as he read through the letter. "I'll accept your resignation, but only if you do exactly that. You and that feller of yours need to live a little."

"Thank you," said Athos, feeling at home here for the first time since he'd started this job. Maybe he should have tried a little harder and drank a little less.

His morning was spent mooching aimlessly about and staring out of his window at the grey autumnal sky. He texted Porthos to tell him that all had gone well and received a couple of emojis as answer, plus a dick pic of his cock all snuggled up tight in those scarlet lace panties.

 _Are you trying to kill me?_ he texted back. _I'll be having a wank in my office soon._

The next one was even more revealing, and so Athos took a photo of his resulting erection and sent it as a reply. At least he hoped it was to Porthos. He couldn't imagine anything more humiliating than sexting the wrong person.

 _save it 4 l8r ;)_ came the answer, followed by: _i <3 u_.

They'd never been this sappy with each other. Athos was on cloud nine.

The afternoon meeting turned out to be another disaster. No one was prepared and Treville dismissed the lot of them with a bad tempered frown. Athos didn't honestly give a toss and escaped to the West End. He had some research to do in Soho, and possibly some shopping if the mood took him.

Looking online had shown him which places stocked ranges of men's lingerie and he was eager to see some for himself, though he had no intention of being too forceful about it. This was Porthos' way of expressing himself and the last thing he wanted to do was spoil things for his man.

The first shop he went into was horrific and he nearly ran away screaming, but the second was much more of a specialist place for cross dressers and trans girls who struggled with their measurements. This place was welcoming rather than freaky.

"Are you looking for something to fit you?" asked a pretty looking boy with long brown hair and warm eyes. "I can tell you your size if that helps."

"Actually, it's for my boyfriend," said Athos. "He was nervous about coming here so I thought I'd have a look myself. He likes the really simple panties, but I thought it would be good to get something that fitted him comfortably. He's a big man."

"He's lucky to have such a nice partner," said the young man. "Some of mine have been bastards."

"We've been together for a long time," said Athos. "I love him. I want him to be happy." Why was confessing his feelings to a stranger so much easier than telling Porthos himself?

"Are you flirting with the customers again, d'Artagnan?" 

The owner of the voice emerged from the back of the shop. He was dressed simply but provocatively in skinny black jeans with a gauzy, tight fitting shirt that revealed the dark shape of a bra top beneath it. He was tall and masculine, and that hint of femininity was striking.

"I'm Aramis," the man continued. "This is my shop and the foolish child is d'Artagnan, my gopher."

"Assistant manager," corrected d'Artagnan.

"Now tell me about your boyfriend," said Aramis. "You said he's big. About my height would you say?"

"Taller," said Athos. "And he's really broad, all muscle."

"Lucky you," said Aramis and Athos blushed. "You say he likes simple stuff?"

"He's just got into this and is only comfortable with the idea of panties at the moment."

"Well, let me see what we can find that might be in his size," said Aramis. "In the meantime you have a look around and see what you like. I'm sure he wants you to find him sexy."

Athos thought of that cock nestled snugly inside crimson lace and looked at his watch. "I do," he said with a smirk. "Very much indeed. In fact let's get a move on. He'll be home from work soon."

Purchasing a dozen pairs of panties in different styles, Athos then added a stretchy camisole top plus a suspender belt and pair of stockings to the pile, just in case. It came to an extortionate amount of money and he handed over his credit card. 

"Thank you very much," said Aramis, chucking a pair of snugly designed pants and matching bra top into the bag as a freebie. "These are a sample from one of my suppliers. Tell me how he gets on with them."

Athos blushed again and nodded.

"It was very nice to meet you, M de la Fère. I hope we see you again soon."

"I'm sure you will," he said, a little flustered by everything, but intensely exhilarated at doing something so risqué. "My name's Athos," he added as he was leaving the shop.

It was still early when he got in and he placed the bag on the kitchen counter and waited on tenterhooks for Porthos to arrive home. When he did so, it was with a hurricane force of energy as he launched himself at Athos, licking into his mouth and barging him towards the bedroom. Once on the bed, Athos fell on him, unzipping his suit trousers and mouthing at that lace covered cock which tasted of precome and smelt of musk. Peeling back the underwear, Athos began a slow suck, rubbing the lace over Porthos' balls which were tightening by the second. It was too much and he ground himself against the mattress, dry humping in his excitement.

"On your knees for me, baby," growled Porthos. "I need to fuck you. You're all I could think about all day."

Trousers and boxers discarded along with his shoes and socks, Athos then turned onto all fours and mewled with pleasure at the sudden intrusion of a slick finger. He glanced in the mirror at the wanton picture: him naked from the waist down whilst still dressed in his suit jacket, shirt and tie, Porthos resting on his haunches, fully dressed except for his trousers which were undone, revealing an erection that was poking obscenely out of red lace panties.

Athos gripped himself in a panic. "I need you in me," he begged and as he watched Porthos kneel behind him, felt the thrusting intrusion of that big cock, he couldn't wait any longer and brought himself off with his hand, come flying everywhere.

"Jesus, I'm sorry," he said, feeling utterly humiliated.

"Sorry for what?" Porthos pounded into him over and over again. "I'm over the bloody moon that you find me such a turn on."

Athos' head was spinning. He'd never been so thoroughly fucked, taken apart in the best way possible.

"Ride me," said Porthos and as they switched positions Athos felt the rub of the lace against his backside and began to harden again. 

Porthos reached for him, pulling at him until he was thick and solid in his hand. "You beauty," he said and they both instinctively looked into the mirror.

They _were_ beautiful, thought Athos. Debauched and happy, wet with sweat and come, fucking each other's brains out. Fucking away all the pain.

Porthos grabbed for his hips, fingers digging in as Athos arched his body into a bow. He moaned low in his throat as Athos went to work on him, raising himself right up and then slamming back down, twisting the lace of the panties between his fingers and imagining that new home together in France and a lifetime spent doing only this. As Porthos cried out and came hot inside him, Athos felt the white out of another orgasm hit him unexpectedly and he collapsed forward, his cock jerking dry in his hand.

"I've never known you do that," said Porthos as Athos shifted around to get comfortable.

"What? Ejaculate prematurely?" Athos smiled wryly. "I hope you won't again."

"It wasn't premature." Porthos pinched him. "No, I meant the dry orgasm. Have you done it before?"

"Not since I was a teenager," admitted Athos. "You're making me young again."

"I can see the acne sprouting already," teased Porthos, kissing him on the nose. "Shall we go out for a meal tonight? That new Thai place on the high street is supposed to be good."

"Only if I can play footsie with you under the table," laughed Athos.

He lounged across that big body, licking at the seam of lips until Porthos opened up to him, rolling him over in the bed and kissing him until he was practically purring with happiness.

"I feel rotten," said Porthos suddenly. "I can see now how utterly miserable you were. I should have noticed how bad things had got."

"I like to hide," said Athos with a raised eyebrow. "Usually down the pub."

"From now on we try harder," said Porthos. He sat up and examined his suit. "I think this'll need sponging off before I take it to the cleaners."

With the worst of the mess wiped away from both suits and bodies, they were about to leave for the restaurant when Porthos noticed the black and silver bag neatly tucked away next to the microwave.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Athos, cursing himself for intruding on something private. He felt privileged enough to be allowed to participate. "Let's go and eat. I'm starving."

Porthos took a peek into the bag and pulled out the blue briefs with the matching camisole. "These are lovely," he said with a grin. "For me?"

"No, for my other boyfriend who likes to wear lingerie," said Athos with a smirk.

Porthos had a second look inside the bag. "These are gorgeous," he said, examining the mesh panties designed specifically to house a cock and balls. "This?" He held up the bra top that matched.

"They were thrown in," said Athos, excited to see how pleased Porthos was. "You don't have to wear any of it if you don't like it, but they have some really nice stuff in there. You should come and see for yourself."

"Maybe I will," said Porthos reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Anyway, let's go out. It's nice to hear you say you're hungry for once."

They carried on holding hands as they walked down the street together and Athos had never felt so content, even more so when Porthos draped an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close, announcing loudly to the world in general: "I have the best feller ever."

It being a Monday, the restaurant was quiet and, floating on a cushion of rejuvenated love, they sat at a secluded table, drinking enough to be tipsy and enjoying some really good food. It was romantic. Holding hands across the table, they felt each other up beneath it, laughing and playful.

"As soon as we get home I'm going to try my new things on," said Porthos. "See if they fit."

"Aramis was positive they would when I described you to him. He says he's a really good judge of sizes, even remotely." Athos wasn't sure what he'd said that was wrong, but he knew it was something bad from the devastated expression on Porthos' face.

"You talked about this to someone," he muttered. "You told them what I did."

"Just the owner of the shop where I bought the stuff," said Athos, feeling miserable. "I was telling him how much we both enjoy it."

"It was supposed to be a secret," hissed Porthos. "My secret. I should never have told you any of it." He shoved the chair back hard until it bashed against the wall and then stood up, putting on his jacket as he stormed out of the restaurant.

Athos would have run after him, but he couldn't leave without paying the bill. Embarrassed at causing a scene, he left a hefty tip and then, with hands shoved deep into his overcoat pockets, he wandered morosely up the road, feeling such a fool for being as pushy as he had been. It was so unlike him, but then he'd been carried away on a wave of excitement, overjoyed that Porthos still loved him.

After a while, he sat on one of the benches that surrounded a small rectangle of park and wondered what to do to pass the time. Smoking was the obvious answer, but then he remembered how much Porthos hated the smell and let the cigarette fall unlit to the ground. With absolutely no idea of how to fix things, he watched the minutes tick by and the clouds pass in front of the moon. It began to drizzle and still he sat there as the fall of rain grew heavy enough to match his mood.

At first, when his phone rang, he just stared at it and let it go to voicemail. Not that he ever listened to the messages.

 _answer the phone,_ came a text a minute later.

He was shaking when he accepted the call. "Yes?" he said tentatively, fully expecting to be dumped.

"You coming home anytime soon?" said Porthos. "It's hard to sort things out with someone when they've run off to hide."

"I'm not hiding," said Athos. "I'm thinking how best to apologise."

"Are you in the pub?" said Porthos, ignoring the apology part.

"No." Athos expelled a small sigh of misery. He was such a waste of space. A failure at everything work and life related, the only expectation anyone ever had of him is that he'd be drunk off his face somewhere.

"Where then? Tell me."

"Just out," said Athos, feeling as if he should have a can of Special Brew in his hand and a bulldog by his side.

"It's raining," said Porthos. "Please come home."

"I'll only fuck things up again." He hung up on Porthos, and there was a brief moment where he wanted the whole world to go away. The emotional pain was so strong it manifested itself as physical and he wrapped his arms around himself and leant forward. Minutes passed. He was cold and he was wet, but he didn't care.

"Here you are." An arm descended around him. "Come on. Up we get. Time to go home."

He did as he was told, shoulders slumped and head down, a hand holding his tightly and leading him along. 

Porthos talked all the way back to the flat, nonsense mostly, nothing that made sense to Athos anyway. He felt light headed, heavy hearted, disconnected.

"Good thing there aren't many places to go around here," said Porthos, still wittering as he opened the front door of the flat. "In you go. I'll put the kettle on and you get changed into something dry."

For a while, Athos sat on the edge of the bed, not thinking, just staring at the floor. Slowly he pulled himself together and stood up, finding a pair of pyjama trousers and a t-shirt then putting them on and chucking his wet clothes in the laundry basket. He could hear the sounds of tea being made and the vague noise of the television and he knew Porthos expected him to appear in the living room but for some reason he just couldn't.

"We're having our tea in here, are we?" The bed shifted. "Budge up a bit."

Athos moved a little and Porthos began to rub his wet hair with a towel. "I'm making you a doctor's appointment first thing tomorrow."

Athos breathed in and tried to remember how to speak. "I don't need one."

"Yes you do, darling." Porthos pulled him in for a cuddle. "Everything's got you down and I haven't helped. Been so wrapped up in myself that I never saw what was happening to you."

"Just love me," said Athos sounding weak and pathetic. He used to be steely strong, the epitome of an ice cold businessman and now he was a broken down wreck.

"I do. I always will. I don't even know why I got so pissed off at you like that," said Porthos. "Embarrassment, I suppose. I thought about it when I was marching down the road in a strop and I was furious with myself."

"I shouldn't have intruded," said Athos.

"Bollocks." Porthos shifted around in the bed so they could see one another. "What you've given me is the best gift ever, and by that I don't mean the undies. I'm sorry I messed things up. I'm still so nervous about this. I love it, but I'm terrified people are going to find out."

"So what if they do?" said Athos. "It's none of their business." Feeling slightly restored, he sat up and took a sip of his tea. "Maybe we should both see a therapist."

"Probably," said Porthos. "Though I was thinking I might prefer to meet those new friends of yours in the shop."

"You promise you won't get your knickers in a twist?" Athos side-eyed him, a hint of a smirk on his face.

Porthos bellowed with laughter. "There's the wicked git I know and love." Amusement disappearing as suddenly as it had arrived, he reached for Athos' hand. "I missed you," he said, kissing each knuckle. "I'm still kicking myself that I didn't see how depressed you've been getting."

"I'll be better once I'm away from work," muttered Athos.

"Will you though?" said Porthos.

Athos thought about his growing feeling of inadequacy and that occasional longing to disappear. "Maybe not," he said. "I'll do what you say and talk to the doctor."

"We'll sign up for every kind of counselling going," grinned Porthos. "They'll be sick of the sight of us at the ruddy health centre."


	4. Chapter 4

The GP wasn't much use, offering Athos a short course of anti-depressants which he considered and then refused. He'd been making changes to his life already and, having discussed this with Porthos, had already decided he'd prefer to talk to someone rather than opt for drugs straight away. There was a huge waiting list for NHS help, but the doctor did however give him the number for a private therapist, someone with whom he could talk openly about his problems and current lack of self confidence. Taking the bull by the horns, he left the surgery and arranged a meeting with the recommended counselor, who was able to see him within a couple of days.

Dr Ninon de Larroque had a strange name, but a good reputation, which proved to be well deserved when Athos came away from his first hour long session with a new understanding of the deep seated issues that had caused his breakdown, much of it far older than stress caused by work. He realised now that he hadn't been loved as a child and in some ways this made him feel closer than ever to Porthos, who had been brought up within the social care system, bouncing from foster home to foster home. It seemed they had more in common than they'd once thought -- country estate and minor title excluded, although he kept that last part a secret from everyone.

Today was his final day at work and, despite his remonstrances, the office manager, Anne, insisted on him being subjected to the horrors of a leaving do. Perhaps it was a good thing, he thought as he read the card that had been signed by everyone in the firm. He then unwrapped his farewell gift, which turned out to be a nifty little Nikon camera.

"It seemed appropriate," said Treville. "Seeing as I've caught you taking more photos on your phone than I've found you doing actual work." He patted Athos on the shoulder. "Go off and enjoy your life, Athos."

"I will, sir," said Athos, relieved that the boss hadn't walked in on some of the more artistic pictures he'd taken whilst in his office. "Thank you."

Departing for the last time was a little sad, but Athos had no regrets, and he walked away with a spring in his step that had been missing for a long time.

Porthos was waiting for him outside the building, having left work early to make sure he was there in case he was needed. The hug was a delight and Athos breathed in and out as he clung on tightly to his man.

"How was it?" said Porthos.

"They were all lovely," replied Athos. "Too lovely." He held Porthos by the upper arms and pushed him away a little. "I hate the idea of relying on you for money. I could always sell La Fère."

"No. Never. Not happening," said Porthos. "That place is our future. We'll be fine. We have savings."

"Most of which are being used up on my therapy sessions," said Athos glumly.

"Don't you even think of going all moody on me," said Porthos, hugging him hard and rocking him from side to side. "It's Friday night. I'm ditching my evening class and you, mon coeur, are going to give me some extra curricular French lessons in the bedroom with the curtains closed while I try on all the pretty things you bought me."

Athos began to laugh and once he'd started he couldn't stop, even though his belly was aching, his sides were splitting and the tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I love you so damn much," he gasped.

"Not quite the reaction I was hoping for with my attempt at seduction," said Porthos, though he was grinning from ear to ear. "Let's grab a coffee and go home, babe."

Back at the flat, Athos changed out of his suit into some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Porthos was singing away in the shower and Athos poked his head around the door.

"You don't mind me being a slob tonight, do you?" he said.

"Wear whatever you like," said Porthos. "As long as it includes a smile."

Athos watched him through the misted glass as he shaved his chest and his groin and then stripped away the hairs from his armpits. This was new. He watched with a stir of excitement as Porthos then lathered soap over his legs.

"Can I help?" he asked, his voice pitched low.

Porthos stepped out onto the mat and handed Athos the razor. "Sure thing," he said with a grin. "You can reach all the difficult bits."

Kneeling, Athos stroked the blade carefully over Porthos' skin, removing all the hairs from his legs then intricately shaping the area around his cock. By the time this was over they were both rock hard and, after rinsing Porthos off, Athos dried him carefully and then unearthed some expensive body lotion he'd been given for Christmas that had been sitting unused in his chest of drawers, still in its gift box.

"Lie on the bed," he said, stripping off as he watched Porthos spread out for him.

"Fuck, that's good," said Porthos as Athos rubbed the cream into every inch of skin, massaging him from toes upwards, skating over his most excitable parts. "You'll have me coming from this alone."

"Save it for later," laughed Athos, kneeling astride him and landing a delicate kiss on his lips. "You're the most beautiful man in the world and I love you."

"Can I get more beautiful for you?" asked Porthos, unusually shy.

"You can," smiled Athos. "I don't think it's possible, but I'd love you to give it a go."

Standing up, Porthos opened the wardrobe and reached for the bag.

"Have you tried any of them on yet?" asked Athos.

"No." Porthos shook his head. "I wanted you to be a part of this."

They hadn't played together since that frenzied sex session after work on Monday. Since then it had been all about talking, reconnecting with each other and simply making love. It had been a wonderful, emotional week, but by now Athos was full of anticipation and ready for some fun and games.

The first items Porthos tried on were the blue lace cami and briefs. He was stunning in them and as he admired himself in the mirror, Athos stood behind him, stroking the smooth skin of his thighs and then moving upwards to cup his balls.

"I want to fuck you," he groaned, his cock pressing against the lace.

"Hold fire," said Porthos.

"I'm not too good at that when you're all dolled up," admitted Athos with a wry smile.

"Tough," grinned Porthos, "because I'm trying on some more of my pretties."

"Fuck," moaned Athos as he watched Porthos get changed.

"God, I love these," said Porthos fitting himself into the mesh panties that were designed to be a neat fit for a cock. "That Aramis bloke has good taste."

They were scandalously gorgeous, beautifully obscene and Athos clutched at himself and began a slow stroke.

"Down boy," chuckled Porthos. "Let's see what I look like in the matching bra."

"Jesus," moaned Athos as he watched Porthos hook on the top, and that was it, the hair trigger that pushed him over the edge. Grabbing at Porthos, hauling him onto the bed, he licked at his nipples through the sheer fabric and then crawled down his body, taking that mesh covered cock into his mouth and sucking on him hungrily, his hand working furiously between his own legs. 

"Oh," he groaned, restraining himself with difficulty until Porthos cradled his head, fucking deep into his mouth and coming through the barrier of material. His own orgasm was secondary, but left him spent and as wrung out as a mangled sheet on wash day.

"I'll give this knicker set ten out of ten," murmured Porthos as they sprawled together all boneless and sexed out.

"I'll give you a hundred out of ten," smiled Athos as he nuzzled at Porthos' snug fitting bra.

\---

"Athos, what the hell are you doing?" Porthos rolled over, looked at the clock and then glowered at him. "It's six o'clock in the morning." His face was a picture when he remembered another salient fact. "It's also bloody Saturday."

"Everyday's Saturday to me," grinned Athos, he knelt over Porthos and snapped a few more shots. "Just trying out my new toy."

"You dirty little shit," laughed Porthos, snatching the camera out of Athos' hands. "I think this is illegal, by the way." 

He clicked through the gallery of photos and Athos leant in next to him. "See how incredible you are."

Porthos turned the camera on him. "And you," he said taking dozens of pics of Athos who was erect and laughing and fighting to get away. "Look," he said, reeling through the snapshots. "Gorgeous. Gorgeous enough to eat."

With a growl he kissed his way down Athos' body and took him into his mouth, throating him until Athos was on the brink of heaven and thrusting up from the bed. The blow job was slow and leisurely, a languid start to the day, and as Athos climaxed, with Porthos' name on his lips, it was with the realisation that he was slowly starting out on the road to mending.

"Where are you off to?" he said as Porthos bounced out of bed. "I thought we were in the middle of something?"

"Intermission," said Porthos. "I'm making coffee and toast.There's a catalogue in that bag I want to browse through while we're having breakfast."

Snuggling back under the duvet, Athos closed his eyes, tired after yet another mind blowing orgasm.

"Oh no you don't, my love," said Porthos, returning some indeterminate time later with a tray which he put down on the bedside table.

"Mmm, proper coffee," said Athos, sitting up. "You're spoiling me."

"With a pinch of salt, just the way you like it," said Porthos as he got back into bed. "No croissants though, only toast and jam."

"Lovely," said Athos, taking his mug of coffee and almost spilling it as he jerked away from Porthos. "You're freezing."

"I put the heating on," said Porthos. "It'll be tropical soon." He smiled at Athos and kissed him on the cheek. "But in the meantime we'll have to stay in bed." He opened the catalogue. "Put your specs on."

"I don't need glasses to look at kinky pictures," said Athos.

To be honest, the layout was far from kinky. It was unimaginative and very generic: well toned men looking utterly disinterested as they modelled skimpy knickers. The lingerie itself, however, was exciting stuff.

"I like those," said Porthos, munching on a piece of toast and then pointing to a burnt orange one that was similar to the blue lace cami and briefs that Athos had bought him. 

Athos bit at his lip and waved his hand casually over to a model who was dressed in a red tartan bra and pants with a barely there mini skirt to match. 

"You can really see me in something like that?" asked Porthos.

"Fuck yes," said Athos. "I'd never leave you alone."

Porthos grinned. "Maybe we should put it on the shopping list then." He turned the page and inhaled quickly. "Athos, look at these."

The double spread was devoted to corsets: basques with matching panties and over chest cinchers with suspenders, the models all wearing stockings.

Porthos looked at Athos with a shocked expression, but his cock told no lies, standing proud from his body, the mesh fabric of the panties under an immense amount of strain.

"You should try on the suspender belt and stockings to see how you like them," said Athos in a hushed voice.

Porthos sat up. "Could you unfasten me?" he asked equally hushed and Athos obliged, working the hooks and eyes apart, then sliding the bra free and reaching around to tweak Porthos' nipples whilst biting softly at his shoulders. 

Porthos wriggled free of his panties then examined the suspender belt. "Do I put this on first, then stockings and then knickers?"

"I have no idea," laughed Athos. "Not my specialist subject, I'm afraid."

"It soon will be," said Porthos, turning his head to kiss Athos full on the mouth.

Fastening the suspender belt around his waist, he removed the stockings from the packet and eased the first one over his toes and up his leg, immediately snagging the nylon and making a run.

"Damn," he cursed.

"They still look great," said Athos when Porthos had finished putting on the second one and had clipped them both into place. "How does it feel?"

"Strange," said Porthos, kneeling up to examine himself in the mirror. His cock was so full there was barely any bounce to it. "It's restrictive in a very good way." Delving into the bag, he found a pair of panties with the most give to them and put them on over the top. "I love the way these are made for men," he added, easing his erection inside the lace channel. "That feels so good."

Athos gave him a look as he sat back on the bed propped up by pillows.

"Quit with the 'told you so' stare." Porthos grinned. "I never said that I didn't want any men's lingerie." He settled back down with the catalogue on his knee and his cock jutting out to prove his excitement. "You're not jumping on me. I must be losing my touch."

"You just sucked me off." Athos raised a hopeful eyebrow at him. He was recalling that first awkward, erotic confession and had a sudden urge to watch Porthos make a mess of his underwear. "Why don't you see to yourself?"

"How could I refuse?" Porthos kissed him on the mouth and then wrapped a hand around his own cock, rubbing the lace over himself in a syncopated stroke as he flicked through the final pages of the catalogue.

"Those shoes," breathed Athos. He watched Porthos pull at himself and gulped, imagining him wearing a corset, stockings and four inch stilettos. "You'd look unbelievable."

"I'd never be able to walk in them," said Porthos doubtfully.

"I don't need you to walk in them," said Athos. "Just bend me over the kitchen counter and screw me as hard as you can."

The catalogue was discarded and Athos was pushed into all fours on the bed. He moaned low in his throat as he was breached by a thick cock and he rose to it, spitting into his palm and rubbing himself off as Porthos fucked into him with animal need.

"I love how much you want me," he growled.

"Always," gasped Athos and as he looked in the mirror there was nothing feminine or strange about the image reflected back at him. It was beautiful, a meltdown of heat and lust arising from the slam and slap of two bodies. 

Pulled back onto Porthos' lap, a big hand wrapped around him, he came to command, throwing his head back as he did so. Fucked deliciously raw, he lay on his back, with Porthos straddling him and kneeling up, that big cock free of the panties, jutting out from the suspenders. 

"I want to see you come in your pants," he confessed.

Porthos groaned, loud and long. Slipping the material back over his erection, he began to masturbate, eyelids shuttering as his limbs trembled and he began this full body thrust, his whole focus on the sheer joy of a satisfying wank.

Athos had never seen Porthos so stripped back and open. He studied him, watching the glistening of sweat, the tautness of his muscles as his climax began to hit.

"Feels so good," Porthos moaned, his fist flying over his cock and then, with a roar, he reached a spectacular orgasm, the come spilling out of the sides of the panties.

When Porthos opened his eyes, Athos smiled at him then trailed a finger through the pool of thick semen and licked it clean. Repeating the move, he fed Porthos his own sperm.

"That was one seriously amazing fuck," he said with a contented smile. "Plus the best ending ever."

"I'm buying us a corset and some stilettos," said Porthos as he collapsed on top of him in a heap. "If that's the kind of sex we have from just talking about it, imagine what it'll be like when I'm wearing them."

"Premature on my part, I should think," smirked Athos. It didn't bother him now that he came so quickly from seeing his man in lingerie. He also came a lot more often and they both thoroughly enjoyed their playtime.

"We could go shopping today?" suggested Porthos, shy and sweet and utterly loveable.

"I think it's our duty as gentlemen," said Athos, wrapping his arms tightly around that big, beautiful body and locking him in place.


	5. Chapter 5

Town was lively today, bursting with Christmas shoppers who were out en masse, all of them on the hunt for a bargain in the seasonal sales. Luckily this meant that the backstreets of Soho were quiet, the constant drizzle also acting as an obstacle for the kind of spectators who went there looking for laughs.

"Athos, I don't know if I can do this," said Porthos, gripping his arm with vice like strength.

"Well, then we don't." Athos smiled rather than smirked. "We'll do a bit of Christmas shopping and then have some lunch in The Grapes." He watched Porthos relax visibly and then laughed a little when the next words from the man's mouth were plaintive.

"But I wanted to see the shop."

Slipping both arms around Porthos' waist, Athos reached up for a kiss. "You decide," he breathed, allowing one hand to work its way under the leather jacket and sweater then burrow down under denim to tweak at the silk beneath. "I adore you just how you are."

Despite the fact they were out in public on a relatively busy lane, Porthos extended the moment, holding Athos against him and licking deep into his mouth. "You're so right for me," he said softly when the kiss had ended, leaving them both emotionally vulnerable and physically hard. "Show me this treasure box of yours."

Athos smirked at him. "Now's hardly the time."

"Different box," grinned Porthos. "That one's for my eyes only."

Turning into one of the smaller side streets, Athos stopped outside the shop and, peering inside, he was pleased to see that it was empty of customers.

"Is this it?" asked Porthos dubiously, eyeing it up and down. "It doesn't look up to much."

Athos knew better. The Bordello was a tardis. Small fronted with an ordinary looking door and tastefully arranged window dressings, it extended a long way back into an unexpectedly large showroom. He smiled at a very nervous Porthos who was bubbling over with a plethora of excuses and squeezed his hand in reassurance. "We can keep walking, if you'd prefer."

Porthos leaned in close for a kiss. "But I want to bend you over the kitchen counter," he whispered. "And I can't do that unless I've got some new stilettos on."

The blood rushed south and Athos tamped down his desire to haul Porthos into one of the service alleys and fuck his gorgeous arse. Thank god he'd chosen to wear his overcoat; his arousal would be embarrassingly obvious without it. Tipping his head in the direction of the door, he said to Porthos: "Shall we?"

"We shall," said Porthos with a determined nod. "You go first."

The bell that jangled to announce the presence of customers was wonderfully old fashioned and put Athos at ease, reminding him of times past. "Here we are," he said.

"It looks ordinary enough," remarked Porthos.

"Less of the gimp masks and more of the garters," said Aramis emerging from the stockroom with d'Artagnan trailing after him. "Bonjour, Athos, lovely to see you again."

"And you," replied Athos with a tilt of the lips. 

Aramis looked just as dichotomously exotic as last time. His beard and moustache were neatly trimmed and he was wearing a pair of leather jeans. This time, however, the trousers were slung so low it was clear to all that he had a pretty pair of scarlet pants on underneath them and his black button down shirt hung unfastened revealing a red basque top. Athos was relieved to discover that it was only Porthos in lingerie that turned him on.

"You must be the big, beautiful boyfriend," said d'Artagnan, grinning up at Porthos.

Aramis tutted him. "Never make assumptions, boychick," he said and then he shrugged. "Although if you were going to make one then this is probably a safe bet."

"Porthos, I'd like you to meet Aramis and d'Artagnan," said Athos, glancing at his partner to make sure he was still okay with this. They should have thought of a safe word.

In fact Porthos was positively beaming. "Aramis," he said and then he grinned at Athos. "The man with good taste in undies."

Now it was Aramis' turn to brim over with happiness. "Exactly what I like to hear on a wet November Saturday. How can I help you both? Do you want to have a browse around?"

"Actually," said Porthos. "I've already got a few things in mind."

"Big, beautiful and knows his own needs." Aramis winked at Athos. "You're a lucky man. I'm riddled with jealousy."

"Hey," said d'Artagnan, blowing him a kiss. "I _am_ here, you know." He turned to Athos. "Shall I get us a coffee while they're busy choosing knickers?"

"You can get us all a coffee," said Aramis. "We may be here for hours. I love nothing more than discussing lingerie with a fellow connoisseur."

"Sounds good to me," said Porthos, although he too double checked to make sure that Athos was okay with the idea. "All right by you, baby?"

"Perfect," replied Athos, taking a seat at the counter and stretching out his legs.

"What would you like Porthos to wear?" said d'Artagnan when he returned from the back with a tray of drinks. He passed Athos one of their catalogues. "I know it's badly done, but at least it shows off the products."

Shyer than he'd ever felt in his life, Athos flicked through the pages. He pointed out the sets that included tiny slips and mini skirts. "This kind of stuff," he said.

"You're getting more adventurous then?"

Athos glanced at d'Artagnan to make sure he wasn't taking the piss and was relieved to discover there was nothing but an engaging look of interest on his face. "Yes," he said, nodding over to where Aramis was explaining the corsetry section to Porthos. "We are. It's good. I never even thought about men in lingerie until Porthos confessed to me that he liked it."

"That must have been an interesting conversation." D'Artagnan grinned at him.

"It was indeed." Athos raised an amused eyebrow. "With an x-rated finish." There was something about these two men that made him extremely comfortable. It wasn't just that they understood. It was something intrinsically deeper: a connection, an emergent bud of friendship that rarely happened with him. He was not a people person.

"Porthos is trying on some gear," said Aramis a few minutes later, taking his coffee cup from the tray. "He's going to shout if he needs help."

Athos gazed at the changing room, dying to know what was happening inside.

"Put your tongue away," laughed Aramis. "He's all yours and you'll see him soon enough. Now tell me all about yourself, chéri. What do you do for a living?"

"At the moment nothing," said Athos with a shrug. "I resigned from my job last week. Had a bit of a mid life crisis, to be honest."

"You're too young for that," said Aramis. "Tell me the whole story."

God, but he was a nosy bugger and yet, for some unknown reason, Athos didn't mind in the slightest. "I was drowning mentally," he said. "I couldn't stand going to work, doing the same pointless things day in day out. I want something that fulfills me." He looked over at the changing room. "And for now that's Porthos."

"I should imagine he's very fulfilling," said d'Artagnan with a speculative eye at the swaying curtain.

"So then, Aramis," said Athos, switching the focus away from himself. "What made you decide to sell lingerie?" The man must be minted. Running a business in London was ridiculously expensive. Especially one with very few customers.

Aramis laughed. "Now that, my friend, is a very odd story," he said. "Once upon a time these premises housed a rather disreputable backstreet brothel owned by my equally disreputable grandmother, known to all as Madame Angel. All my life I grew up around scantily clad girls wearing beautiful lingerie. As I grew older my interest in girls declined, but my fascination with their knickers increased exponentially. So, when my grandmother left me the bordello in her will I knew exactly what I wanted to do with it."

Athos sighed deeply, wishing he'd been as decisive about La Fère.

"Don't sound so sad, my friend." Aramis patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm not." Athos shrugged. "A little envious of you perhaps."

"Athos," called Porthos, interrupting this odd heart to heart between strangers. "Come here a minute."

"Any filthy sounds from in there and I'll chuck a bucket of water at you," warned Aramis with a grin. "This is no longer a knocking shop."

As Athos wound his way through racks and rails over to the curtained off area at the far end, his cock was already unfurling and stiffening inside his boxers. Just the thought of his boyfriend all done up made his mouth water.

"Well, what do you think, babe?" said Porthos, who was examining himself on all sides in the array of mirrors. 

He looked stunning. So stunning, in fact, that Athos rose to full throbbing erection. Porthos was dressed in a simple, shaped corset, made of black satin and threaded with tiny sapphire coloured ribbons. He had on stockings, matching panties and was standing proud, in all ways, wearing a pair of gloss black stiletto shoes.

"Say something then," he added. "I'm starting to worry."

"I can't," gasped Athos, falling on Porthos, running his hands over the boned fabric, tweaking at his nipples, stroking his cock, until it reared out of the briefs. "I've been given strict instructions not to fuck you in here, but Jesus Christ, man," he breathed, biting at Porthos' shoulders. "You're so tall. You're so beautiful. I need you. I want you to throw me against that wall and fuck me now."

Porthos beamed with delight. "How about I keep everything on but the shoes and we'll see where today ends up?"

"Mmmm," moaned Athos, running his hand lasciviously over that satin covered belly.

"I don't half love it when you lose the power of speech," said Porthos, putting his jeans, sweater and jacket on over the top of the lingerie and stuffing his own lace panties into a pocket. Kicking on boring boat shoes, he placed the courts carefully back in their box. "Come on then," he said with a wink. "We've got some other stuff to choose."

Between them, they amassed a mountainous haul of knickers, bras and slips, then piled the lot onto the counter.

"I'm keeping the corset on," said Porthos with a wicked grin and as he spoke he wrapped his arm firmly around Athos. 

Athos leaned into him, leeching strength. He liked Aramis and d'Artagnan very much indeed, but with his confidence still at the lowest ebb ever, it was difficult to be around these tall, handsome men, all of them sharing the same interest, without feeling inadequate. Porthos understood this, knowing instinctively what was needed.

Aramis laughed, low and dirty. "You two are a joy," he said. "The best customers ever."

"I should bloody well think so," said Porthos when he looked at the total on the register.

"I'm afraid that lingerie doesn't come cheap for us men," said Aramis, frowning at d'Artagnan as he added far too many free gifts to the bags. "We suffer for our art."

D'Artagnan glanced at him. "Maybe you could make it up to them," he said, taking a few bottles of poppers from under the counter and adding them to the bag.

"By the look of things I already have," said Aramis.

"Don't be cranky," soothed d'Artagnan, pecking him on the lips. "You said you have a couple of spare tickets for that party tonight?"

"I do indeed," said Aramis, rubbing his hands together in delight as he grinned at Athos and Porthos. "What do you think, boys? Shall we meet up in Compton's and then go on to drag night at Heaven. It's invite only, so none of the usual queues."

Porthos' hand tightened compulsively around Athos' waist. He'd always been into the club scene and had enjoyed going dancing every weekend. Athos, with his two left feet, was less involved, but had loved seeing Porthos so uninhibited and happy. "Why not?" he said. After all his former boss had told him to live a little.

Porthos looked at him, baffled but clearly thrilled by his easy acceptance of the invitation. He leant in close, his mouth pressed against Athos' ear. "Provided I get to put on my new shoes as soon as we get in, so that you me and the kitchen worktop can get intimate."

Athos felt the heat rush to his cheeks and his cock. He felt faint from longing and hung on to Porthos as a prop. "Sounds good to me," he murmured in reply, his voice thick with need.

"Compton's it is then," said Porthos. He smiled at Athos. "Maybe we can move on to The Welly afterwards."

Athos fell headlong into past, recalling the moment they'd first met. He'd been dragged out by a group of work colleagues, who were determined to find him a partner. London gay nightlife was a million miles from his usual quiet existence, but he'd gone along with the plan just to keep everyone happy. Falling head over heels in lust at first sight, he'd not been able to take his eyes off the most beautiful man ever who was kicking up a storm on the dancefloor. Without even a flicker of hope he'd watched from afar, amazed when the man of his dreams then bought him a drink and nudged them towards one of the quiet corners of The Duke of Wellington.

"Remember?" said Porthos.

"How could I ever forget?" It had been the turning point in Athos' life. Something extraordinarily wonderful.

"They're having a moment," said d'Artagnan.

"They're having a few of them, I believe," replied Aramis, barging in between Athos and Porthos and clapping a hand around two sets of shoulders. "Go home. Be romantic with each other and we'll see you at eight, ready to party the night away under the railway arches."

"Right you are, boss," said Porthos.

The jangling bell took them back to the reality of pre Christmas London, but Athos was too drunk on love to care how dreadfully busy Piccadilly Circus was. 

"I'd hold your hand if only we hadn't bought so much stuff," laughed Porthos. 

With two large bags each, getting into the station was a nightmare and finding a space on a carriage was high on impossible, but they eventually managed it using the Tetris like skills of old time Londoners.

"You _are_ happy?" asked Athos, as cautious as ever.

"As happy as I can be without your cock in my arse," whispered Porthos as they were jostled together on the moving train.

They touched mouths for a peck on the lips that was so highly charged it had the same result as an hour's worth of foreplay. Ignoring the disapproving looks from the other passengers, Athos kissed him once more and then moved a little until his mouth was close to Porthos' ear. "I'm so hard for you I could come in my pants right now."

Athos was never the most forward of people and, stunned by this admission, Porthos gazed at him, his eyes flaring with heat. "I think I just did," he said in a loud voice, wearing the happiest of smiles.

It became a race to get home and then a rush to get in and wash the London grime off themselves. Pushing and shoving at each other to gain prime position at the loo, they laughed together and then kissed briefly.

"You pour the wine and I'll go get ready," said Porthos in a gruff voice. "I'll meet you in the kitchen."

His heart thumping with unreserved excitement, Athos opened a bottle of burgundy, poured two glasses and then hopped up onto the counter, putting on his specs and scanning through yesterday's Metro.

"So, how do I look in the harsh light of day?"

Athos glanced up and then breathed in quickly. Porthos was too statuesque to be real. His body, cinched into that corset, was sleek and smooth and utterly delectable. His legs were impossibly long under normal circumstances, but in the shoes they were elongated and perfectly muscled. His skin had a sheen of excitement to it, whilst his eyes were huge and dark, full of need and love. He was perfect.

"I-" Struggling to find the words Athos took a sip of his wine. He'd imagined this moment would be all about lust and yet the vast amount of love he felt was indescribable. "When I first saw you I thought you were the most gorgeous man on the planet." Even raised on the worktop, he still had to look up a little."Today, you're ten times more magnificent. A hundred times even."

Porthos stepped in closer, nudging in between his legs, cupping Athos' face with one hand. "You never took your eyes off me," he said. "I wanted you so much. I waited for you to make a move, but you just stared at me."

Athos was transported back five years. "Why would you ever want me?" he asked.

Porthos laughed, then cradling his face between both hands, he kissed him slow and sweet. "How can I make you understand what I see in you?"

The kisses increased in frequency and determination until Athos could do nothing but trap Porthos with locked arms and legs and moan helplessly into his mouth.

"Let go, baby," said Porthos eventually. "Let me undress you."

As Porthos unbuttoned his shirt, kissing every inch of exposed skin, Athos ran his hands over that corsetted body, taking in the smoothness of the satin and the rough lace. He twisted the ribbons and let them run through his fingers. He sought out the expanse of stockings and the skin peeping out, and finally he ran his hand across the bulge of cock, hidden by the tight panties. Precome seeped out at his touch and he swirled his thumb over the satin covered flesh.

Porthos lifted him down and crouching, wobbling a little in his stilettos, he unfastened Athos' chinos and tugged them down, removing trousers, pants, socks and shoes in a well practiced move. "You're all mine," he said, stroking Athos, touching him, turning him until he was facing the counter. "My own darling."

Fingers thrust into him, teasing at his sweet spot until all he could do was whimper and when Porthos took him it was with such a force of love that Athos had to hang onto the edge of the counter and enjoy the ride of his life. He could see their reflection in the mirrored surface of the oven. Could hear the grunts of desire from behind him, feel the same breath against his ear, but he needed more.

"I want to see you," he said and, empty now, he turned, hiking up his legs and pulling Porthos to him. 

With the added height of the shoes they were perfectly aligned to fuck this way and with a hand splayed possessively on Athos' belly, Porthos filled him.

"More," Athos begged, needing to be owned.

"God, Athos," growled Porthos, his hand wrapped around Athos' erection, dragging him to the edge of orgasm and leaving him hanging. 

Athos arched into Porthos' hand, grinding shamelessly against the beautiful intrusion of his cock, but most of all he gazed, his eyes raking endlessly over the man, taking in every stunning detail. Shockwaves of pleasure coursed through him and his orgasm, when it hit, was so intense that he blanked for a moment, aware of a shuddering and a heat spreading inside him, but not quite back from space.

"Did I actually fuck you unconscious?" Porthos was grinning down at him, big and brash and beautiful.

Athos felt his lips tug upwards. "Maybe a little."

"A little bit unconscious," laughed Porthos, kicking off his shoes and hoisting Athos over his shoulder. "Is that even possible? Can you carry the wine like that?"

"Just about," said Athos, reaching for the glasses.

"Good, because it's snuggle on the sofa time."

With some careful manoeuvring, the drinks ended up on the side table with the two men cuddled up on the couch.

"I love this," said Athos as he rested his head on Porthos' chest. "I don't want it to end."

"It has to," said Porthos, burying his face in Athos' mop of curly hair. "We're going out in a couple of hours."

"I mean this," said Athos. "Us. I don't want anything to go wrong."

"It won't," said Porthos kissing him over and over again. "We're too amazing for that to happen."

Athos was never certain why he couldn't silence his self doubt, always searching for the worst, despite endless reassurance from Porthos. Maybe Dr de Larroque would finally be able to fix his damaged ego and life would be a half full glass for once.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for all the errors. Windows 10 killed my laptop and I've been too busy to fix it, so I've been struggling with my Android tablet for weeks.

Choosing what to wear to go out in had never been an issue for Porthos, but his collection of undies was causing him problems. He stood in the bedroom naked, surveying the multicoloured sea of panties and bras with a frown of concentration as if he were trying to solve the Countdown Conundrum.

"Are you ever going to decide?" laughed Athos, enjoying the view.

Porthos ran his hand over the lingerie displayed on the bed. "I want to wear my corset, but it'll be way too hot in Heaven."

"These," said Athos, picking out the tartan bra top and briefs. "I like them."

Porthos smiled indulgently. "I know you do. Shall I model them for you with the skirt and stockings?"

"Not if you want to go out tonight." Athos was amazed that his cock was stiffening, ready to fuck again already.

"My gorgeous, horny man." Porthos lunged at him until they were tumbling onto the bed together on a cushion of silk and lace. Slipping his hand between waistband and skin, he felt Athos up, giving him a good, hard squeeze. "I'm not entirely sure I want to go anywhere. This here is my idea of heaven."

"Sweet talker." Athos inclined his head and moved in for the kill, kissing Porthos with languid sweeps of tongue. He'd forgotten how much he loved to make out with him. They used to lie together in the park on a sunny day, kissing for hours and not giving a damn what anyone thought. In a matter of weeks, they'd regained everything that had been lost.

"We'll have beard burn if we do this much longer," said Porthos, who by now was also impressively hard. "I'm going to try and squeeze my cock into those knickers you love so much."

"Let me put them on you," said Athos, and kneeling by the side of the bed he slipped the panties up Porthos' legs and into position, tucking everything away. "Sit up," he said, putting the bra on Porthos and hooking it fastened. "You look amazing in that," he said, standing back to admire the man. "Wear something to show it off."

"I _was_ going in that new tee I bought a couple of weeks ago," said Porthos, standing up to look through his wardrobe. "But how about this?"

The shirt he was holding was one that Athos had given for him for his birthday. It had a subtle black on black stripe running through it and it was beautifully tailored. He'd never worn it, declaring it to be too tight, but Athos loved him in it. It showed off his body to perfection.

Athos watched as those pretty panties disappeared inside a pair of nice tight jeans and when the shirt went on, with just a couple of middle buttons fastened to leave the bra and those sculpted abs on display, he became ridiculously flustered.

"Is it hot in here?" he smirked, fanning himself.

"I hope so," said Porthos, checking himself out in the mirror. "That's the general idea."

"You look amazing," said Athos.

"We look amazing," insisted Porthos, grabbing Athos by the hand and pulling him in close until he was standing in front of Porthos, captured by strong arms. "Let's go knock 'em dead."

Athos took a quick glance in the mirror. He looked okay, the faded chinos, blue check shirt and tweed jacket not Heaven standard, but very him. At least the beard covered up the scar on his lip.

"No," insisted Porthos. "Look at us. See what I see." Gently, he tipped Athos head upwards, forcing him to stare at the reflection. "I'm proud to be with you, Athos. I know you like to hide from everyone, but you don't need to. You're smart and funny and kind--just being with you makes me happy--but most of all you're incredibly sexy and so fucking good looking I can't take my eyes off you." He grinned. "Even when you're drunk and puking your guts up in the loo."

Athos remembered how many times Porthos had sat up at night taking care of him. "Not my best side," he said. "I can think of more flattering angles."

Porthos kissed his temple. "I love every angle," he murmured. "Now, let's go party."

For once the weather gods were with them and the rain had actually let up. Arms wrapped around each other, they walked to the station and waited on the platform with Athos letting go of his caution and allowing his fingers to wander a little, making contact with the lace edging of the panties. 

They smiled at each other, enjoying the moment, but it was soon spoiled by a group of lads.

"Oi! What do you think you're wearing, you poof?" said one of the miniature, hamster haired townies.

Athos secretly enjoyed these times when a bunch of abusive arseholes harrangued them from a distance and then approached, only to realise, with no small amount of trepidation, how impressively big Porthos actually was. In bare feet the man was six feet four. In his boots he was an inch taller and also as broad as a barn door and seriously ripped.

"Tell you what," said Porthos. "Do you want to take me outside and tell me what you _think_ I ought to be wearing?"

"You're all right, mate," laughed one of the less belligerent twats. "You carry on."

"It must be good to be you," said Athos, watching the group of morons shuffle off to the other end of the platform.

Porthos, however, was buttoning up his shirt to cover the tartan bra top. 

"You don't need to do that," said Athos with a frown. "I love the way you look."

"I have a job in which a lot of young people depend on me," explained Porthos. "I need to be more careful." He kissed Athos on the mouth. "We'll save the flaunting for Heaven, eh?"

"Are you going to be my very own cage dancer?" Athos smirked.

"I'll be your private dancer," said Porthos. "I'll strip for you at home." He grinned. "Once I learn to move in my heels."

The train arrived with a whoosh of air and that distinctive scent which Athos could only ever describe as the guts of ancient London. 

"When we're there," he said as they were pressed together, up close and personal inside the overheated carriage. "Don't make me dance. I'd rather just watch."

"Depends," said Porthos, mouthing at his neck. "Can I drag you onto the floor to get off with you during the slowies?"

"They never play any slowies," laughed Athos, squirming with excitement at the feel of Porthos' lips against his skin.

"We'll pretend," said Porthos and his voice was a low rumble. "You smell so good. Why do always smell so good? You never use aftershave."

"It's my invisible pheromones." Athos' lips tugged into a smile. "It's what happens when I spend my life permanently hard around you."

Porthos nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "You want me now?"

Slipping a hand down the back of Porthos' jeans Athos stroked his satin covered arse. "If the carriage was empty I'd suck you off right here and probably come in my pants from doing it." He smirked. "If I was wearing any, that is."

The look Porthos gave him as they pulled into the platform was a classic and Athos laughed. It was fun being risqué. 

When more people tried to jam themselves into the overcrowded train, the two men escaped the crush.

"It's not much of a walk from here," said Porthos as they emerged onto the street. "Not worth the hassle."

"Plus, I'd probably be arrested by the transport police if I was squashed up against you any longer." Athos took hold of Porthos' hand. "I feel alive again."

"It's like the old days, but better." Porthos stopped Athos and turned to face him. "I meant what I said, Athos. I love you. I'll never love anyone but you."

"We're supposed to be having fun tonight, not being soppy." Athos could see disappointment in Porthos' eyes and felt guilty. "You know I love you. Always."

They slid into each other's arms, melded together, hugs turning to fervent kisses until there was a cough from behind them and they pulled apart, red faced and hard cocked.

"Do you two ever stop having moments?" asked Aramis. "Anyone would think you were in the first flush of infatuation."

"I think they're sweet," said d'Artagnan.

Athos felt slightly miffed at being described as such by a manchild who was wearing the tightest skinny t-shirt known to man and a pair of leggings that left nothing to the imagination.

"We should be more like them," the boy continued.

"As if," chuckled Aramis. "You couldn't stop flirting if you tried, and I fall in love far too easily."

Porthos shrugged. "I'd hate being like that," he said in a gruff voice as he slung an arm around Athos' shoulders. "I met this gorgeous feller in The Welly five years ago and I can say, hand on heart, I've never looked at another bloke since."

"Did you hook up in there?" asked Aramis, as nosy as ever.

The Duke of Wellington was infamous for its nooks and crannies and Porthos nodded and laughed. "Best night of my life."

"Of our lives," corrected Athos, full of nostalgia.

"Well then we should go there and have a drink," said Aramis. "To celebrate your union."

More of a reunion, thought Athos as he followed the others up Old Compton Street, all of them trooping inside the traditional stomping ground of the gay Londoner on the pull. A week ago he'd been certain they were on the rocks and now- He looked around him at the familiar surroundings, remembering everything about the night they'd met: the quiet corner by the door from where he'd gazed at Porthos all evening, the endless babbling of his work colleagues as they'd tried to convince him to chat up different men, the utter elation and disbelief when Porthos had bought him a drink. The mind blowing quickie they'd had upstairs here, followed by hours and hours--years and years--of making love.

"What do you want to drink?" yelled Aramis, but immediately their conversation was interrupted by a handsome, blue eyed blond who launched himself into the middle of the pack, kissing Aramis for a solid five minutes with neither of them coming up for air.

"I reckon we're buying our own," said Porthos. "Wine?"

"Rum and Coke," said Athos. It was hot and he needed to pace himself.

"Two rum and Cokes," shouted Porthos to the barman who was dressed in a pair of hot pants and rubber vest top. 

Athos thought the bloke looked utterly ridiculous.

"You can stare at him, but you're not allowed to touch," laughed Porthos, handing over a glass that chinked with ice cubes.

"Why ever would I want to?" asked Athos in bewilderment. He slid his free hand inside the waistband of Porthos' jeans and guided him over to the stairs. "Let's get reacquainted with this place, my love."

Porthos shivered with excitement and even in the low lighting Athos could see a flare of arousal in his eyes.

Passing d'Artagnan, who was already busy getting off with someone, Athos swallowed a gulp of his drink and hip barged Porthos towards a secluded bench seat. "Sit down," he said. "You've promised to be my personal stripper later and so, in advance payment, I'm going to give you a lap dance right here."

Taking off his jacket, he chucked it onto the table next to their drinks and then straddled Porthos' knee, helping him out of his leather. Grinding slowly in time with the music, he leaned in teasing the outline of Porthos' lips with the tip of his tongue as he worked open the buttons of Porthos' shirt, exposing that tartan bra top. Bending his head, he sucked bruises along each collarbone, running his thumbs under the material of the bra and teasing at both nipples until Porthos was writhing against him. Mouth and hands on the move, he sucked at Porthos' tits, nipping at the aroused flesh as his fingers adeptly unfastened the buttons of his fly, revealing those matching panties that were wet with precome and distended by a very solid erection.

"Jesus Christ, Athos, if you carry on like this I'm going to come all over you in a second," murmured Porthos.

Athos stroked him through the soft material and shifted a little in his lap, moving back up to his mouth. "No you're not, beautiful," he said when the kissing had ended. "You're going to let me play with you all night."

"As long as I get to do you in return," said Porthos as he reached for the zipper of Athos' chinos. "I need to see whether you're commando."

"Nope," said Athos, wriggling away from him and crouching between his legs. He grinned up at Porthos. "That's for later."

The panties looked, felt, smelt divine and Athos licked from gusset to waistband to see if they tasted as good. They did. He moaned low in his throat, mouthing at the hard cock that was barely contained within the pretty material. Allowing it freedom, Athos took the entire shaft deep into his throat, reaching upwards to play with Porthos' tits that were concealed inside the bra. It was too exciting and he rocked, whining around Porthos' cock, swallowing him deep and continuing on with tiny suggestive movements that had them both at the edge of coming.

The padded bench seat bounced a little and Athos could hear Aramis' voice from above. It was a good time to end this first round of the night and he moved back, tucking Porthos away inside his knickers and then kissing him briefly on the tip of his satin covered cock. Standing, his knees aching, he took up his favourite position on Porthos' lap, facing sideways this time with his arm around Porthos' neck and Porthos' hand on his waist. Like this, he was able to play with that pretty bra.

"Don't let us interrupt," said the blond man. "I was thoroughly enjoying the show."

Athos smiled and reached for his drink. "We've got a long night ahead of us. We don't want to peak too soon."

"I want to peak right now," murmured Porthos. "I want to shove you against the bannisters and peak the come out of you onto everyone down below."

"I heard that and it was disgusting," said Aramis. "And yet for some reason it turned me on." He turned to his friend. "You'll have to forgive them. They've been together for years and yet they can't seem to keep their hands off each other."

"Like us," said the blond man. 

"Like us, but without all the other guys," laughed Aramis. "Porthos, Athos, this is Marsac. We've known each other since uni."

"Been fucking like stoats since uni." Marsac smiled. "Are you boys coming to the party tonight? 

"We are," said Porthos, his cock thrusting upwards as Athos nibbled at his ear. "If we make it that far."

"Have a fuck now," suggested Marsac. "You don't want to miss the big occasion." He grinned. "You'll see a different side to me there, I promise."

"I'll get the drinks in," said Aramis.

"I'll keep the seats warm." Marsac winked at him. 

The man obviously wanted to watch them screw and with a sudden shock of realisation, Athos found himself incredibly turned on by this. He twisted on Porthos' lap, back resting against chest, and reaching for his mouth, he kissed him with dirty intent.

"I've got condoms," murmured Porthos, after a minute or two of making out. "I thought we might need them. You want to?" 

Athos hooked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in close. "I want to," he said and resuming the kiss, he whined with excitement as Porthos unzipped his chinos.

"You're a bloody delight," whispered Porthos, finding him bare and hard beneath the trousers, pushing them down so that Athos was exposed to anyone within this darkly lit corner of the room. 

Porthos' cock was big and hot. Athos wanted him just as he was, but the condom would make things easier. He shifted forward, allowing Porthos to rubber up and cover himself with slick and then, with a loud moan of delight, he was lifted and then sank down onto eight inches of solid erection.

"Now, that's a very pretty sight," said Marsac. He had his own cock out and was stroking himself as he watched the show.

"You lot are shameless," laughed Aramis when he returned with the drinks. 

"Give me a blow," pleaded Marsac and Aramis slid to his knees.

Unbuttoning Athos' shirt, Porthos let it fall open and began to wank him off in rhythmic strokes that had him reeling. Giving himself up to the moment, he clenched around Porthos' cock, working him, as much as he could in this position, with a shimmy and then a snap of his hips. With his head thrown back, resting against Porthos' shoulder he climaxed, his come jerking from him, thin and translucent from so much sex.

Pushing him forward across the table, Porthos slammed into him, hard, harder still until his head began to swim. He felt the shudder of orgasm deep inside him accompanied by the bite of Porthos' fingers and then nothing else until he was back on Porthos' lap being wiped clean of come.

"You okay, babe?" asked Porthos.

"Yeah," said Athos, in a world of his own that was filled with space dust and rainbows. "I swear you're a drug."

"Love is the drug," laughed Porthos as he made them both respectable. "Did you enjoy that then, mate?" he asked Marsac.

"Live porn and a blow job," said Marsac. "Who, in their right mind, wouldn't?"

"I'm not sure d'Artagnan did," Athos said in an undertone to Porthos. The kid had lost interest in his catch of the day and was looking over at their table with a bereft expression on his face.

"They are what they are," said Porthos with a shrug as he glanced at Aramis and Marsac who were all wrapped up in each other. "I'm glad I have you. Just you."

"We fucked in public," laughed Athos.

"Not for the first time," said Porthos, kissing him on the cheek.

"Did you think of me as just a hook up back then?" asked Athos. He was never quite sure if they'd talked about being together, or had simply never parted company since that first night together.

"No," said Porthos, adamant and determined. "I knew, from the moment I set eyes on you, that I'd be with you forever."

"I hoped," said Athos. He'd been brave enough to dream.

From The Welly they then moved on to Compton's. The company of five was more than a little awkward, but the stress fractures were easy enough to ignore after enough rum and Cokes, despite the fact that that d'Artagnan was becoming quite outrageously behaved, flirting with every man he passed, gay and straight regardless. 

After Compton's they struck out for Charing Cross and it was a shock to be able to get into Heaven without hours of disorganised queuing.

"Whose party is this?" Porthos asked Aramis as they checked coats.

"No idea," said Aramis. "It could be Elton and David's anniversary for all I know. They might want to slum it for a change."

"Unlikely," said Porthos. "He'd be the one performing, not letting the drag acts steal his thunder."

It was as hot as hell inside the nightclub and, as he had always done in the past, Athos hid in plain sight at the bar, taking his drink slowly and gazing with pride at Porthos who let himself go and danced, as liquid and mesmerising at this as he was at all things. The group of four were a handsome sight, but Athos only had eyes for one of them, smirking a little as his boyfriend avoided some obvious _fuck me's_ from strangers around him, grinning at Athos as he did so.

"Most people come here to have a good time," yelled the barman as he brought Athos a second drink.

"I am," shouted Athos, raising his glass.

"If you're still here when we close then maybe we could go back to mine and have a good time together," suggested the barman, staring at him with kohl rimmed eyes.

The kid was barely in his twenties and Athos felt as creepy as the Child Catcher. "Thank you," he said downing his rum. "But I'm with someone."

Pushing his way through the crowds, he finally made it over to his group of friends, one missing by now as Marsac had apparently vanished backstage to get ready.

"Did that pretty baby barboy ask for a shag and scare you off?" said Porthos, his mouth close to Athos' ear.

Athos said nothing and simply unfastened the buttons on Porthos' shirt, stroking the material of the bra and teasing Porthos' nipples into tiny, hard buds. 

In return, Porthos pulled him close, an arm holding him in place as they swayed together to the trance mix. "Now this is my kind of dancing," he said as he moved in for a kiss.

"And they're off," Athos heard d'Artagnan shout. "Maybe we should try it?" the young man added.

"Maybe we should mingle," replied Aramis to which Athos felt extraordinarily sad for the kid.

The stage area had been extended into a catwalk and as the lights dimmed, the crowds surged forward, leaving Athos and Porthos to watch from the back of the dance floor. The first act was a rather ancient queen with craggy features and caked on make up. He mimed to Dead or Alive's You Spin Me Round, which confused Athos greatly.

"Aren't they supposed to sing women's songs?" he asked Porthos.

"What's the point when they look like that?" Porthos did a double take and grinned. "Have you honestly never been to a drag show before?"

"I got invited to one at a corporate event ages ago," smirked Athos. "But I couldn't see the attraction." He turned to look at Porthos, unfastening a couple of fly buttons and pulling the denim open to reveal what was underneath. "I see it now, but I don't need you to wear makeup or sing to me."

To the left of them, d'Artagnan had moved in for the kill on a group of young men, flirting outrageously and showing himself off. 

"Could be trouble," said Athos, nodding over at the drunken party.

"His problem," said Porthos as he licked a path from the shell of Athos' ear to his very eager mouth. "I'm only interested in you."

Hidden at the back, they made out, bodies and mouths locked together, Porthos' cock rearing up and trying to escape the confines of the panties as Athos ground against him, fingers clamped around his wrists as he shoved him against the wall.

"I want you to fuck me. I want you," groaned Porthos.

"Here?" Athos looked over his shoulder to check for security staff.

"Here. Now." 

There was a roar from the crowd as the backing tape led in with the distinctive chords of an Abba song. Athos could hear Aramis whooping from nearby and looked at the stage to see Marsac dressed as Agnetha with a long blonde wig, thigh high boots and skimpy satin dress. 

"That's-"

"Don't care," growled Porthos and freeing himself from Athos' grip he pulled down his jeans and turned to face the wall. "Don't take my panties off, pull them to one side," he murmured. "I want you to fuck me and make me come in them."

Athos was on fire, his heart thumping, his head spinning. Willing himself not to jizz at first touch, he took the condom from Porthos and skinned it carefully over himself. When they were both slicked up ready, he tugged the slinky material to one side and rode into Porthos, taking him hard, fondling his cock and balls and biting at the strap of his bra. Blood pounding, he stroked, slammed, fucked his man until Porthos' knees began to tremble and he came into those pretty tartan knickers, calling out for Athos. That was all it took to push Athos over the edge, and with his body moulded to Porthos he shuddered out a climax, daring to dream that this new side of him was real.

"That's a first," said Porthos as he pulled up his jeans. "I've never fucked to a live drag act singing Dancing Queen before."

"By the time we got to the sex they'd moved on to Knowing Me Knowing You," said Athos. "And don't you even-"

"Aha," said Porthos with a grin that was full of childish delight. He leaned in for a gentle kiss. "Do you mind if we go home, babe? I'm all sticky and I need to curl up in bed with you. Thirty's too old for partying."

"I can't think of anything I'd like better," said Athos with a relieved smile. Going to the theatre was more his style, although he wouldn't have missed this adventure for the world.

Holding hands, they escaped the chaos of Heaven only to find themselves in the middle of something much nastier as they were making their way to Embankment. 

"Fucking little faggot," yelled a man, kicking the toe of his boot into a prostrate form on the pavement. As the body rolled over from the force of the attack, Athos could see to his horror that their victim was d'Artagnan. 

Porthos was already charging towards the group of men. "Get the fuck off him," he yelled.

Like all bullies, they ran at the sight of the angry man who knelt, sweeping the hair out of d'Artagnan's eyes. "What were you thinking, going off with a bunch of straight guys?" he asked. "Did you really think they wanted to fuck you?"

D'Artagnan blinked up at him, then shook his head and looked away. "I dunno."

"Don't move," said Porthos. "God knows what damage they've done."

Blood was pouring from a cut on d'Artagnan's head. He was nursing his ribs with one arm and his other wrist was twisted at a nasty angle.

Once Athos had called for an ambulance, he turned to Porthos. "Go back to the club and fetch Aramis," he said, sounding much calmer than he felt. "If we're gone by the time you find him then wait for me to call."

"I should stay with you both," said Porthos. He clutched at Athos' forearm. "I want to stay."

"Aramis needs to know what's happened. D'Artagnan will want him here."

"I don't," said d'Artagnan in a weak voice.

"Well, I want him to know, and I want him here," said Athos, as angry at Aramis as he was sorry for the poor kid. He was also wracked with guilt for ignoring a dangerous situation. "Porthos, go and get Aramis."

When they arrived on the scene, the paramedics were efficient, but largely indifferent to d'Artagnan's plight. They probably saw this kind of thing all the time around here. 

"We'll be taking him to the A&E department at the Royal Free," said one of them as they loaded d'Artagnan into the ambulance. "Are you his partner?"

"Just a friend," said Athos. 

"You'll have to make your own way there," said the woman. "The police will need a statement from you."

Was it even worth it, Athos wondered as he watched the ambulance depart. No one would investigate this. No one would care. It was a typical Saturday night gay bashing. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Lighting a cigarette, he leant against the brick wall of the arches and waited for the others to turn up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off to Wales soon to find somewhere to live and I won't be back until Sunday. I'll try and fit another update in tomorrow, but I may be running around panicking about whether I'm doomed to spend the next few months in a tent - in the rain. XD

It was mid morning by the time Porthos and Athos arrived back at their flat. Both of them shattered, upset and irritable with each other.

"I had to spend the entire time talking to the police wearing a pair of spunked up tartan panties. I felt disgusting," said Porthos, throwing himself onto the sofa.

"And you're saying that's my fault?" replied Athos, making two cups of coffee and handing one over.

"I'm saying nothing of the kind," snapped Porthos. "I'm just stating facts. I feel gross."

"Then I suggest you stop whining and go have a shower," said Athos in his most officious tone of voice.

"I hate it when you're like this," grumbled Porthos as he sloped off to the bathroom.

Athos sat in the armchair and contemplated the pink slogan on the mug in his hands. It was a silly play on words about being gay, a secret Santa present from work, but rather than being light hearted fun, today it seemed cruel and unnecessary. He thought of d'Artagnan lying listless in the hospital with Aramis sitting next to him, neither of them looking at one another. Stupid. All of it stupid and impossible to understand.

Switching on the television, he turned to a news channel and listened to some imbecile career politician drone on about the need to plough more money into social housing, without suggesting how to fund any of it. Again none of it made sense to him and he considered the bottle of whisky on the counter, wondering if that would bring an end to the current state of confusion in which he was mired.

For want of something better to do, and to take his mind off the whisky, he began filling in answers to the cryptic crossword in the newspaper. At least unravelling those clues was easier than the mysteries of being a gay man living on a planet that was stacked with heteronormatives.

 _I like being different_ , he found himself writing in the margin next to the puzzle. Marginalia was always telling.

A while later the phone rang and, not recognising the caller he answered it cautiously. "Hello?"

"It's Aramis. Porthos gave me your number when you were in with the police this morning."

"How's d'Artagnan?" asked Athos.

"He's gone home to the tender care of his mother," said Aramis.

"You could sound a little more caring yourself," said Athos. "If Porthos and I hadn't left the club when we did-"

"I know. I realise that and thank you for helping him," interrupted Aramis, as irritable as the rest of them. Sleep was a very necessary thing. "I'm angry with him for behaving so badly, Athos. He was asking for trouble all night."

"He was craving your attention," said Athos. "Acting up so you'd take notice of him."

"But I'm never going to be with him in the way that he wants and I've told him so many times," said Aramis. "He's a sweet boy and I adore him, but that's as far as it'll ever go."

"Even now?" said Athos.

"Especially now," replied Aramis in a monotone.

"Then stop fooling around with the kid and let him be your assistant manager."

"I don't know if I can," admitted Aramis.

"Oh for god's sake, Aramis. Grow up," snapped Athos, disconnecting the call.

"Everything okay?" asked Porthos, emerging from the bedroom dressed in a pair of sweatpants and rubbing at his eyes with screwed up fists.

"Yes," said Athos in a resigned voice. "Everything's fucking wonderful."

"Have you been drinking?" said Porthos.

"No," said Athos. "I haven't been drinking."

Eyeing the whisky bottle suspiciously, Porthos walked over to sniff the contents of Athos' mug.

"Thank you for believing me." Athos raised an eyebrow. "That says a lot."

"Sorry," said Porthos, laying a hand on Athos' forearm. "You were acting strangely. We're both acting strangely. Go get some sleep. You need it."

He didn't suggest they go to bed together and that said a lot too. Without another word, Athos wandered off down the small hallway, their room apparently back to that timeshare system they'd been employing for months. Was the recent reunion just a glitch?

"Have you heard how d'Artagnan's doing?" called Porthos.

Athos stopped in his tracks. "He's been discharged and has gone home to his mother." He paused and sighed. "Aramis doesn't give a damn." He was right to hate people.

He woke, sometime later, to the rustling of plastic and the scuffling sound of things being moved around.

"What are you doing?" he asked Porthos.

Porthos turned to looked at him, his arms full of lingerie. With a sigh he placed it into a black plastic rubbish sack and reached into the cupboard for more. "As soon as I've washed the rest then I'm throwing it all away."

"But why?" asked Athos, sitting up in bed. "You like it. I like it. What's the problem?"

"A fortnight ago we were barely speaking to each other," said Porthos. "We both know we were on the point of breaking up. Are you honestly telling me that my knicker kink has fixed us for good?"

"Probably not, no," agreed Athos. "But I'm also going to see a therapist. I have another appointment with Ninon tomorrow morning. And, yes, we're having a lot of really great sex, but we're also talking, communicating for the first time in ages and that's good, isn't it? We love each other and I think that's good too." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't understand why you have to throw all your stuff away."

Porthos looked away. "It's dangerous," he said. "We were behaving just as badly as d'Artagnan did yesterday. Showing off what I was wearing. Having sex in public." He sat on the edge of the bed. "I have an important job. I have a responsibility to those children and if my secret gets out then how much money do you think the charity will raise then?"

"I see your point," said Athos. "But why throw the baby out with the bathwater?"

"You don't get it," said Porthos.

Athos nodded in agreement. He understood very little about anything, his mind as rigid as if he were on drugs. 

"I need some space to think," said Porthos. "I'm going to stay with Flea tonight."

Athos nodded again. Flea was Porthos' ex-girlfriend, his final het fling before admitting to the world that he was gay. How better to prove yourself a responsible, straight, charity worker? said a sly, inner voice. "And there's nothing I can say to change your mind?"

"I'm asking for one night, Athos," explained Porthos. "I just need time to clear my head."

Doing what he did best Athos buried himself under the duvet, ignoring the sounds of packing.

"Hey," said Porthos, sitting next to Athos and stroking a hand through his hair. "We'll be fine. Yesterday was a shock for us all. I need a night away from this to talk to someone impartial and Flea knows what I'm like. I can tell her anything." 

Athos wasn't stupid. He trusted Porthos not to jump into bed with the girl, just to prove his masculinity, but it hurt immensely to hear his partner admit that he needed someone, other than him, to talk to about their problems.

"I'll see you tomorrow, babe," said Porthos, kissing the top of his head. "I've put a wash on. Can you make sure you chuck the stuff in the dryer afterwards?"

Once more Athos nodded, unable to speak without falling to pieces and begging Porthos to stay.

When the front door slammed he sat up and climbed wearily out of bed. The rubbish bag was a monolith in the corner of the room, an unmarked memorial to the end of their new lease of life. With nothing better to do, he got drunk enough to push the last few hours to one side, determined, after half a bottle of whisky, to give Porthos the space he needed and no longer be an unemployed, unwanted burden.

By morning, having had little sleep and with sobriety looming on the horizon, he was still of the same mind and, nursing his hangover, he packed a holdall with enough clothes to see him through to whenever. Not being the kind of man to miss an appointment, he stopped off at Dr de Larroque's practice on the way to St Pancras, leaving his bag in the waiting room so as not to alert her beady eyes to his intentions.

"So, Athos," said the therapist as she sat back in her armchair. "I noticed you were carrying luggage when you came in to reception. You're not happy enough to be going on holiday. You've hardly slept a wink and you're breathing whisky fumes all over me. Putting these symptoms together, I take it that all in the garden is not rosy."

"There was an incident," said Athos. "Involving a friend of ours who got beaten up because he was gay."

"Is he all right?" asked Ninon.

"He is," said Athos, swallowing compulsively at the thought of d'Artagnan's broken body.

"Porthos took it badly," said Ninon.

Athos glared at her. "We both took it badly, but Porthos needed to be alone last night and so I've decided to give him some extra space. I'm going to France for a while."

"Without telling him, I presume," said the doctor.

"He needs space," said Athos, enunciating the words clearly.

"And I'm sure he also needs to worry himself sick wondering where you are and whether you're okay."

Athos frowned at her. "He's questioning his sexuality."

"And once again, I'm certain that panicking about your whereabouts will help him come to a decision on that matter." She paused. "Running away is your inner child's solution to problems, Athos. It's time to face them head on."

"You're supposed to be helping me," said Athos.

"I'm trying," said Ninon. "You've told me many times that the most important thing in your life is Porthos, so why run away from him when he needs you most?"

"Can we talk about something else?" said Athos. "I don't disagree with you. I simply need time to process this."

"As does Porthos," Ninon held up both hands in submission. "And that was the last reference I'll make to him, I promise."

By the end of the hour, Athos felt lighter, as he always did, concerning matters of the past, but his present and future weighed more heavily than ever. He couldn't bring himself to explain to Ninon how much of a burden he was, being jobless, poor and needy. For a few short weeks he'd felt necessary again, accepting and sharing in this new journey of discovery with Porthos, but without it, with Porthos questioning everything about himself, once more he became the millstone in their relationship.

The Eurostar terminal was quiet, a surprise really considering it was so close to Christmas, and plucking up some courage Athos called the housekeeper, a long time friend of the family.

"Chateau La Fère."

The voice sounded wrong and yet strangely familiar. "Madame Bonacieux?"

"Mademoiselle, actually. Constance speaking."

"Constance, it's Athos. Why are you answering the housekeeping number?"

There was a loud sigh from across the water. "If you'd read your emails then you'd know. Mama is in the early stages of Parkinson's and I'm in charge of your ridiculous mansion now."

Athos felt awful. He _had_ been ignoring emails from staff@lafere for the sake of his own sanity, but had always made sure the wages and bills were paid out of his small inheritance. "Constance, I'm sorry. How is Colette?"

"Ups and downs. Not too bad at the moment." There was a pause. "Why are you phoning?"

"I'm coming home," said Athos. "I'll be there in a few hours." He waited for a response. "Is that okay?"

"It's your house." There was a sharp intake of breath. "Of course it's okay, you big dope. I can't wait to see you." She squealed suddenly with excitement. "Will it just be you?"

"Just me," replied Athos, a sad smile on his face as he listened to her wittering on about the past.

Throughout their childhood, Constance Bonacieux had been his little sister in everything but name, annoying the hell out of him, then later on becoming his best friend. Despite being a few years younger, she had been the first person he'd confided in about being gay, and in return, he'd saved her from bad boyfriends and disastrous dalliances with weed and wine. They'd been close and he was looking forward to seeing her again very much indeed.

The journey was stress free and, on auto pilot, Athos found himself outside the front door of La Fère. Having paid the taxi driver, he looked up at the weathered stone façade of the old chateau, melancholy because he wasn't supposed to be standing here alone. Porthos was meant to be by his side, helping him come to terms with his return. They'd mapped out a plan for the future, sitting together on the couch, all wrapped up in each other as they'd discussed how to turn this crumbling edifice into a thriving business venture.

"Athos!" came a loud voice and he found himself being hugged to death by Constance.

"You look really well," he said, pushing her away a little so he could see the grown up version of the girl who had once been his only friend in the world. 

She pouted. "I always assume well means fat."

"Twit," he said affectionately. "You're a slip of a thing and you know it. How have you survived being stuck out here for so long?"

"I like it," she said, leading him into the house. "I don't have to be at the chateau all the time. I have the housekeeper's number on divert to my phone and so I can mostly do what I like. I make sure the cleaners and gardeners do a good job and that the house is ready to be a home again, whenever you need it."

Athos looked around him. The place was immaculately tidy. The wooden floors shone from constant polishing and the whole place smelt of woodsmoke. It was warm and welcoming, very different from how he remembered it. He had an idea that Constance spent quite a lot of her time here.

"Look, you may as well know," she confessed. "I run my business out of La Fère. I'm a dressmaker. I get the occasional commission, but mostly I do alterations for people. I use the morning room as my place of work."

Athos' lips tugged upwards into a half smile. "And do you pay your taxes?"

"It's a very small business," explained Constance.

"So, when it grows into a dressmaking empire will I be liable for all your missed payments to the government?"

Constance flapped. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll-"

"I'm teasing you, ma petite," chuckled Athos, cowering as she attacked him with a duster. "Stop it. I'm sorry. I'm badly in need of a cup of coffee."

The kitchen, in contrast to the rest of the chateau, was just as Athos remembered. It was the heart and soul of the house, a room in which neither his mother nor his father ever ventured, and because of this had become his first ever hiding place. 

As he soaked up the atmosphere Constance bustled around, putting the espresso pot on the hotplate and digging out a packet of madeleines from the pantry. "I thought we were long past teasing," she said haughtily. 

"Never," said Athos. "Can't be done."

"So where's the love of your life?" asked Constance. "Last time I heard from you." She counted on her fingers and glared. "About eighteen months ago now, you and he were planning on visiting here in the summer."

"I changed jobs and we've been busy," said Athos, the words spilling out quickly to cover his distress.

Constance wasn't fooled. "My poor boy," she said leaning over from behind and wrapping her arms around him.

"We fell apart," he admitted. "I recently resigned from my job and I thought things were getting better, but then a friend of ours was beaten up and everything got much worse. Porthos doesn't know what he wants. He needs time to think and so I decided to escape here and stay out of his way."

Constance took a bottle from the sideboard and poured a generous slug of cognac into their coffees. "That's a sad story."

"We were getting on so well," said Athos despondently.

"And is it over between you?"

Athos was hit by a shockwave of despair. He'd never actually considered the full impact of this. If he'd stayed at the flat then maybe they would have had a chance of fixing things, but with him at La Fère- He shrugged these thoughts away. Being here was for the best. Porthos had stated that they were on the point of breaking up. He'd admitted that their rejuvenated sex life was no more than putting a Bandaid over a gaping wound. A glitch was simply that: a short lived anomaly in the giant scheme of things.

"Let's get drunk," he said. "That way I don't have to think about my fucked up life."

"We'll have dinner first and then get drunk," said Constance, kissing the top of his head. "I'm a responsible adult nowadays."

She was also a very good cook, Athos discovered as he polished off a second helping of pheasant in a buttery, creamy sauce. "We should run the chateau as a hotel," he said. "You can be head chef."

"I don't want to," said Constance, pouting. "I like sewing."

"Good," said Athos. "Then sew you must."

By now, they were three quarters of the way through a second bottle from the cellar. It had been laid down for decades and was powerful stuff. Having done the dishes badly, they moved through into the smallest of the reception rooms, once his father's study, and were lazing in front of the fire, Constance sprawled on the couch with Athos on the floor, his head pillowed in her lap.

"I like this," she said. "I get lonely here by myself."

Athos felt lonely whenever he was without Porthos. "Can I tell you something private?" he said. "It's a secret."

"Course you can," said Constance.

"Porthos and I didn't have sex for almost a year."

"Do I really want to hear this?"

"I want to tell you," said Athos. "I found some women's panties in our bedroom and I thought he was having an affair."

"And he wasn't?" said Constance.

"No, because he loves me," said Athos. "It turns out he likes to wear them and I like him wearing them. See?"

"Not really," said Constance and she looked a little bemused. "So, Porthos likes to wear lingerie. I can tell from your expression that you like him wearing it a lot more than you're letting on. Most importantly of all, he loves you." She paused. "Do you love him?"

"More than ever. More than anything," said Athos and all of a sudden the world shifted back into place. "I've screwed up. Why am I here? I shouldn't be here. Why am I too drunk to move?"

"First thing in the morning you go home and tell your boyfriend that you love him," said Constance. "Keep hold of him and never let him go because, because it's very very important that you do."

"Do what?"

"I don't know," giggled Constance.

"You're drunk and incoherent," said Athos.

"So are you," replied Constance.

"But I can say incoherent."

"Go to bed, Athos," said Constance. "Set your alarm. Be up bright and early and go home to mend your mistakes."

"I should probably do all those things," agreed Athos, finally managing to stand up with a little help from the sofa. 

As drunk as he was, the stairs seemed to go on forever and to begin with he turned the wrong way at the top, peeking into his mother's suite and half expecting her to appear from nowhere and coldly tell him to leave her alone.

His own room was less bleak and seemed much as he'd left it, his books still lining the shelves, a tennis racket and hockey stick hanging on the back of the door. He'd left La Fère as soon as he finished university. As soon as he'd plucked up the courage to tell his parents the truth.

Sleeping under the canopied tapestries of his old four poster bed was claustrophobic. He lay there for a while, aching for Porthos, the sounds of _absolutely nothing_ far more deafening than the constant whoosh of London traffic and the rumble of the night buses. Eventually, however, he dropped off, only to be woken by a chorus of cock crows from all compass directions.

"Bloody birds," he said, dry swallowing two paracetamol from a packet in his wash bag.

After a quick bath, he packed his stuff and went down to the kitchen, reheating coffee from the night before and warming a plate of brioche in the Aga. Checking the time on his phone, he noticed there was no signal and hoped that the landline was still in working order. If he got a taxi now he'd be in Paris within a couple of hours and then back in London before Porthos finished work. "I miss you, my darling," he muttered, swilling down his coffee and glaring at his useless Samsung. "I'm sorry for being such a coward."

The house telephone was still connected and Athos found the number for a local taxi firm, watching from the study window to see when the car turned up. Ten minutes later a Skoda rolled into the drive and, after yelling goodbye to Constance, Athos opened the door to find his arms full of man.

"It turns out I didn't need space," said Porthos, in between kisses. "What I actually needed was you."

"I'm sorry for running away," replied Athos.

"Don't do it again. Don't switch your phone off either."

"We have no signal here most of the time," said a female voice from behind them. "Bienvenue à La Fère."

"Porthos, I'd like you to meet Constance," said Athos, coming up for air.

"Pleasure," muttered Porthos, diving into Athos once again and shoving him bodily inside the house.

"I'll get the luggage, shall I?" said Constance.

"How did you find me?" said Athos, ignoring her.

"Where else would you go?" Porthos grinned sheepishly. "Actually, I knew you wouldn't miss your appointment so I phoned Dr de Larroque to ask her."

Athos frowned. "She's not supposed to breach patient confidentiality."

"She didn't," said Porthos "What she actually said was: I can't tell you anything, but I'm sure you'll clear matters up when he gets back from France." 

"The interfering cow," said Athos. "If she was here in this room I'd kiss her."

"Kiss me instead," said Porthos. "I've taken a month off work to be with you."

"So we can try and make things right?" 

"Things _are_ right. Things couldn't be more right if they tried." Porthos took hold of Athos' hand and slipped it under his shirt.

As his fingers made contact with the lace edging of a bra top Athos gasped with pleasure.

"I like being different too," said Porthos, his voice cracking with emotion and sex and all the good things in life. "I like us very much indeed, kinks and all."

Marginalia had turned out to be both telling and important. "I love you," said Athos, getting in first.

Jamming his hands down the back of Porthos' jeans, he rubbed the soft lace between finger and thumb and moaned into Porthos' mouth.

"Where?" said Porthos urgently.

"Anywhere," said Athos. "Pick a door, any door."

The dining room turned out to be a great choice.

"Shall I pay off this next taxi that's just arrived," shouted Constance from the hallway.

"Do it," called Athos.

"I'm not sure if that's to Porthos or me."

"Pay the cab fare please, Constance," shouted Athos, who at this precise second, was lying on the dining table gazing up at the chandelier, his jeans and pants hanging off one foot, with Porthos, dressed in tartan knickers and a bra, kneeling between his legs and sucking him off greedily. This was heaven. His late parents definitely wouldn't approve.


	8. Chapter 8

"You two make life very difficult," complained Constance as she poured mugs of sweet milky coffee to accompany their breakfast. "Poor Therese was so shocked by what she saw yesterday that she's had to have time off work, and I now listen at every door before I dare go inside."

"I promise you we'll never have sex in the kitchen," said Athos. "Again."

"Probably," added Porthos with a grin. "Unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

"Sex is never _absolutely necessary_ ," argued Constance.

"Except when you're us," said Porthos, who had grown inordinately fond of teasing Constance after only a week of them being acquainted.

"And under no circumstances are you ever allowed in the morning room," said Constance, fixing them both with a steely gaze.

"It's her place of business," explained Athos. "She makes dresses." He and Porthos looked at each other and smiled. All that pretty fabric might be a tad overwhelming.

"Actually," said Constance as she placed croissants, butter and honey on the table. "I was wondering something."

"Wonder away as much as you like." Athos loaded his plate with warm pastries.

"You know the special interest you both have in lingerie?"

Athos felt the world falling away beneath his feet. "That was a secret," he said, glaring at Constance and willing her to shut up. "And when I said it was a secret, what I meant by that was: please keep it a secret." He turned to Porthos. "She and I were drunk. I was miserable. I thought we were finished."

Porthos squeezed his hand and kissed him on the lips. "Don't worry. I was in the same state. I told Flea everything too."

"Sorry," said Constance, not sounding terribly apologetic. "But I thought that since we all knew about the knicker thing then secrecy didn't really apply."

"Get down to the nitty gritty," growled Porthos. "What is it you want to know?"

Athos clung on to that big hand. Being here at La Fère was cathartic. He'd never been so much in love, but as contrary as he was in nature, it made him even more terrified of losing Porthos. He prayed that Constance wouldn't mess things up for them.

"Say no if you want to, by all means, but I was wondering if I could have a go at making some underwear for you." She smiled at Porthos. "I think it would be a great project, something new that I could really get my teeth into." Athos coughed and she chuckled in response. "Figuratively rather than literally."

"I think it sounds like a fantastic idea," said Porthos. "What do you reckon, babe?"

"You do struggle getting things in your size," agreed Athos and he looked at Constance. "What do you know about corsetry?"

"I spent a full year studying it at college," said Constance. "I can do this. It could be a winner. You always said you wanted to set up a business here and this could be it."

"I was thinking more of gites and yurts," said Athos. "This is about as far away from that as you can get."

"But Athos," said Porthos and all of a sudden he was bright eyed and bouncing with enthusiasm. "This could be perfect. Constance and I can put our heads together and design ranges of lingerie for men in all sizes. We can cater to all tastes. You take brilliant photographs. We can do proper shoots and market our ranges really well. No more catalogues full of anxious looking men, embarrassed at wearing panties. Let's give it a go, eh?"

"And what about your job?" said Athos. "You love what you do."

Porthos reached out and held both his hands. "I have a whole team of people who work with me. They're all brilliant and persuasive and there are plenty more who'll step up to the mark." He was shaking with excitement. "Just think, Athos. We'll be able to live here, like we always dreamed of doing. You already pay for the upkeep of the place. We'll save thousands in rent. We have our deposit account. This is it, baby. This is our big adventure. Say yes."

"Yes," Athos found himself saying. "Yes. Yes. Yes," and a moment later they were kissing, hands wandering into panties, under a bra, until they were both overheated and insatiable.

"Excuse me, but this is the bloody kitchen," said Constance. "You promised."

"Sorry," muttered Athos, getting up and hauling Porthos with him, his fingers already furled around a very excitable silk wrapped cock. "We'll be in the-" Fuck, he didn't care as long as he was _in Porthos_ within sixty seconds of now.

"Not the hallway either," said Constance. "And I'll need to examine your underwear, Porthos."

"In my chest of drawers," shouted Porthos, dragging himself away from Athos' mouth for a moment. "Have at it. We'll be somewhere, doing something."

On the chesterfield in the living room, turned out to be their place of choice, with Athos stripping Porthos of his clothes and kissing each newly revealed inch of skin with the utmost care.

"Stockings," he said approvingly as the jeans came off. 

"A treat for my darling," said Porthos. "I know how much you enjoy them."

Bending Porthos over the couch, Athos licked a trail of kisses up each leg, biting at the softer skin of his inner thighs and then sucking them until they were reddened with marks. Standing up, he tugged the panties to one side and massaged Porthos' bum. "Will you wear the miniskirt for me later, with your shoes?"

"I'll do anything for you," groaned Porthos as Athos began to work him open with a slick finger. "Please. I want you."

There was something incredibly kinky about being fully dressed and having Porthos, all prettied up in underwear, begging for a fuck. Athos unzipped his flies and hooked his erection, with difficulty, out through the opening. "You want me how precisely?"

"I want your cock in me now. Fuck me. Please, Athos, do it. Do me. I need you."

Dripping with precome, Athos nudged himself into position and then thrust in, angling himself perfectly to ensure he rubbed against Porthos' sweet spot with every stroke of his cock.

"Oh, that's so fucking good,' moaned Porthos.

Athos slid a hand under his bra and tweaked at a nipple. "You want me to pull your panties down, or make you come in them?"

"Down," said Porthos. "I need you to wank me off hard."

Tugging the briefs downwards a little allowed Athos easier access to both Porthos' arse and his cock.

"Really hard?" he said, squeezing his fingers tightly around that erection but keeping the tempo painfully slow.

"Hard and fast," begged Porthos. 

Still teasing at the bud of a nipple, Athos slammed inside, fucking Porthos with hand and cock until he was rearing up and coming in heavy spurts over the leather upholstery. He milked him dry and then with a slap on the arse, pushed him down and rode into him until he could feel the toe curling origin of an out of body climax begin to hit hard. Pressing down on the small of Porthos' back he let go, flying high and then bringing himself back to earth with every sweet and sticky shudder.

"Each time we fuck I think it can't get any better," murmured Porthos. "And then it does." He turned and reeled Athos in for a lovely long kiss. "We can have this, my darling. We really can. The kingdom is ours for the taking."

"One thing," said Athos as he wiped both Porthos and the couch clean of semen. 

"What's that?" said Porthos, tugging at Athos and bringing him back into his arms as if he couldn't bear to let go.

Something, or rather someone had been preying on Athos' mind. "Could we invite d'Artagnan over to stay for a while?" he asked. "I think the kid needs a break."

Porthos rocked him from side to side. "You're a soppy thing," he said, kissing him on the forehead. "Of course we can. As long as he won't get jealous of us being on our worst behaviour at all times."

"He'll cope," smirked Athos. "He'll have Constance to talk to, plus I think it'll do him good to get away from Aramis for a couple of weeks."

\---

D'Artagnan was pathetically grateful for the invitation and was practically on the first train to France. The three of them picked him up at Gare du Nord in Paris and Athos was shocked to see how much life had been sapped from him in such a short time. With his arm in a sling and his face bruised up, he looked like a wounded puppy being rescued from the pound.

"If I ever see those bastards again, I will kill them," muttered Porthos.

"I know," said Athos, holding out his arms to the battered young man who raced into them. "Hi there, kid. It's good to see you."

"Thank you," said d'Artagnan, pressing a dry kiss to his cheek. "For saving me. For this. For everything."

"You're welcome," said Athos, brushing away the drip of a tear, before passing him along the line to Porthos.

As soon as d'Artagnan reached Constance, Athos knew, in the first minute of their acquaintance, that a lifelong friendship had been forged. She mothered him from the start, fussing over him, plying him with ginger flavoured latté and relegating Athos and Porthos to the dual roles of porter.

"Good call," said Porthos, smiling at Athos. "He'll be all right now he's here."

By the time they arrived back at La Fère, d'Artagnan was his usual chatty self, fascinated by the house and its history, examining all the paintings and reading the inscriptions beneath each portrait.

"They're all comtes," said d'Artagnan, rounding on Athos. "Does this mean you are too?"

"Well," said Athos, hating everything to do with this subject. "Technically, yes, but I'd prefer it wasn't so."

Porthos was looking at him strangely. "You've never said anything before."

"Why should I?" Athos took Porthos to one side for a quiet word. "My father was less than pleased to find out I was gay. The last thing he'd have wanted was for me to inherit his title. He died before he could do anything about it and so, out of respect for both our feelings, I've chosen not to use it."

"But still," said Porthos.

"But nothing." Athos shrugged. "I told you all about La Fère. About everything that mattered. The title is archaic nonsense. It'll become extinct when I'm gone, so I've decided, instead, to let it die out a generation early with my father. Okay?"

"Okay," said Porthos, a cheeky grin appearing on his face. "As long as we can have at least one game where you're the wicked comte who makes his loyal manservant dress up in a pretty corset and high heels, then bend over for his lord and master."

"Damn, you have a filthy mind," said Athos, nuzzling into the crook of Porthos' neck and trapping him in a hug.

"And you have a hard on the size of a tree trunk," said Porthos, under his breath. "Shall we go somewhere and see to it, your Lordship?"

Athos had a sudden and profound affection for his discarded title. "We're just going to-" he announced, coming to a stand still when he couldn't for the life of him think of a reasonable excuse.

"Have a fuck," concluded Porthos helpfully. Subtlety wasn't an asset he possessed in great quantities. "You'll be all right with Constance?"

"I'll be fine," smiled d'Artagnan. "You go ahead."

"Sorry about them," said Constance, her hands on her hips. "If you hear any strange noises, night or day, coming from any of the rooms, it has nothing to do with the supernatural."

"Actually, I love that they're like this," said d'Artagnan wistfully. "It gives me something to aim for."

This was the last thing Athos heard before being dragged bodily into the dining room to polish the table, and it made him a very happy man indeed.


	9. Chapter 9

With the two underwear worshippers and Constance busy most days, working out collection ideas and mocking up samples, Athos found himself at a loose end. Having always enjoyed his own company, he made use of the time, taking photographs of the grounds and house with his new camera, finding interesting angles and learning how to work with the light.

"These are really good," said d'Artagnan as he leaned over Athos' shoulder, looking at the latest set of stills on his laptop.

"Porthos has this ridiculous notion that I could shoot some of the new underwear for a catalogue," said Athos, blushing a little as he spoke. "So I was just seeing what locations here would work best."

"It's not ridiculous at all," said d'Artagnan. "You've got a really good eye. You'll need some proper gear, but that's a minor detail." He paused. "Hey, do you want to take some test shots of me?"

"I- I suppose so," said Athos, a little unnerved by the idea.

"Great, I'll just go and change into my best bra and knickers." 

Before Athos could object, D'Artagnan was already charging off up the stairs and he chewed nervously at his nails. He'd never photographed people before and had been stressed enough at the thought of taking shots of d'Artagnan in his clothes, but in underwear? Suppose something terrible happened and he fancied him, or at very least his cock decided to fancy him.

"Here I am," said d'Artagnan, back in five minutes after parading shamelessly through the house in an ice blue cami and brief set. "How do I look?" he asked. "God, I hope my bruises don't show too much."

"You look great," said Athos, with a huge sigh of relief. He felt nothing except friendship for the young man, no stirrings of lust from deep inside. "The light should be good in the library at this time of day. We can use the steps to get some good angles."

After an hour spent messing around with his Nikon and getting d'Artagnan to pose in interesting ways, Athos realised, to his surprise, that he _did_ have an eye for this. 

"You clever thing," said d'Artagnan, looking at himself on the laptop. "You've made me look like a poor little waif, but it works a treat. Hang on a second and I'll get us a Coke."

He returned with a couple of cans. "Constance says I'll catch my death wandering round in undies. She says you should light the fire in here."

"Or alternatively you could get dressed," said Athos, raising an eyebrow.

"That too," grinned d'Artagnan. "But it feels good to finally be in a place where I can be myself and still feel safe."

Athos had never felt safe here, but he was glad that someone could. Lighting the kindling, he opened the flue on the chimney and waited for the firewood to catch. 

"I'm glad we don't fancy each other," continued d'Artagnan as he spread himself out on the hearth rug. 

Athos huffed with laughter. The kid was adorable. "There's only room for one man in my life," he said, sitting in an armchair and watching the flames begin to nibble at the logs.

"Don't we all know it." D'Artagnan smiled at him, but then he looked sad. "I thought for a while that Aramis would be my one and only."

"He thinks you're lovely," said Athos, wishing he could escape this conversation.

"Would you ever describe Porthos as a sweet boy?" asked d'Artagnan.

"No," said Athos. Porthos was kind, handsome, gorgeous, beautiful, lovely. Porthos was everything good in the world.

"See? You disappeared then just thinking about him," said d'Artagnan. "I want someone who loves me that much." He rolled over onto his back. "And it isn't Aramis."

"Did you tell him you were coming here to stay with us?" asked Athos.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I might have done if he'd bothered calling to see how I was, but he didn't."

"For what it's worth, I think he's an idiot," said Athos.

D'Artagnan smiled at him. "For what it's worth, so do I," he said, rolling over once again and wincing slightly as he put pressure on his bruised ribs. He leaned up on his undamaged arm, chin resting on the back of his hand, his legs kicked back and his ankles crossed. "Athos," he said, looking up at him through dark eyelashes. "Would you take some pictures of me dressed as a girl?"

"Of course," said Athos.

"Brilliant," said d'Artagnan. "Now I need to steal some pretty clothes."

The door had opened just before the last sentence was spoken and Porthos peered inside. "Many boyfriends would be worried by this scenario."

"Me drinking Coke in the middle of the day?" laughed Athos. "Terrible, aren't I?"

"Have a look at the pics he's been taking of me," said d'Artagnan, sitting up and shoving the laptop at Porthos. "I've got to go. I need to raid Constance's wardrobe."

"He wants me to photograph him as a girl," explained Athos once d'Artagnan had left the room.

"He'll make a cute one," said Porthos who was now scrolling through the gallery of shots. "These are incredible, babe. I knew you could do it." They kissed with delicate swipes of tongue, hands cupped around faces and the laptop squashed between them. "Can you take some of me tomorrow?"

"My hands will be shaking," breathed Athos, already coming undone at the thought.

"Constance and d'Artagnan are going into Paris to buy fabrics," said Porthos. "We'll have the whole place to ourselves for the day." 

Athos imagined how x-rated that shoot would become and let out a low moan of pleasure.

"My very own darling," said Porthos, putting the laptop to one side and sliding to his knees. 

The warm breath on his cock was enough to make Athos tremble and the suction of Porthos' mouth was a dream. Lost In a fantasy of tomorrow's photoshoot, he felt the steady thump of a hand and knew that Porthos was also bringing himself off at the idea of it.

"You'll wear the corset and shoes," said Athos. "I'll take pictures of you in the study, model poses, all angles and planes, showing off your gorgeous body. I'll be so turned on from this innocent shoot that you can't help but notice. We'll move to the dining room and you'll tease me a little, showing me a hint of nipple and adjusting your panties so I get a glimpse of that gorgeous cock. I'll moan out loud and you'll get hard from it."

Porthos sucked in a breath, scraping his teeth up the shaft of Athos' cock. His hand movements were becoming erratic, his body tensed and thrusting.

"You'll sit on the table, your legs spread, shoes resting on two of the dining chairs, and then you'll pull down your panties, all soaked with precome, and begin to touch yourself. I'll take a couple more shots and then I'll have no choice but to get my cock out too, either that or come in my clothes. I'll approach you, stand in between your legs, pushing forward, stroking myself over stockings and satin and bare skin until finally I rub against you. I'll take picture after picture as we wank together."

Porthos swallowed, throat muscles contracting around Athos as he trembled and jerked out his orgasm. With his hand on Porthos' head, Athos bucked upwards and came and came and came until he was empty.

"I have a new favourite thing," said Porthos as he grabbed tissues from the box. "You have the filthiest mouth ever. I never knew this. Why did I not know this?"

Cuddled up on the sofa, they basked in the warmth of the fire and kissed themselves into a dream state.

\---

"Today is all about photography," said Athos sternly as he carefully shaved every millimeter of body hair from Porthos' crotch. "We had our fun yesterday."

Porthos didn't answer, preoccupied by his reflection in the huge bathroom mirror. The rest of his body was already as satin smooth as the lingerie he'd be wearing, and it was just his most personal area left to be done. 

"Suppose you hate it," he said as the final hairs were removed. Rinsing off the lather, he stared at his denuded groin. "It looks odd. Don't you think it looks odd?"

Athos offered him a hand to help him out of the huge bath tub. "I think you look beautiful."

Porthos laughed. "You always say that."

"And that's because I always mean it," said Athos, drying Porthos off with a warm bath towel. Pouring body lotion into his hand, he massaged the cream into Porthos' skin. "As my partner, you're always gorgeous to me, but today you're my subject and, as such, you're perfection."

Porthos tucked a towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. "When I first started dressing up I was terrified," he said as he led the way to the bedroom. "Don't get me wrong, I found it bloody exciting, but afterwards, after I'd worn the panties for a day, hard because of it and nervous that I'd be discovered, I'd come home and have a wank and then feel disgusting. Like I was the lowest thing on earth."

Back in the bedroom, he took off the towel and sat on the bed, patting the space next to him which Athos happily occupied, resting a hand on that newly shorn thigh.

"When you found those dirty pants under the bed it was the worst day of my life," continued Porthos. "Having to explain what I'd been doing when I was secretly wearing a pair of knickers at the time made me feel sick. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I thought you'd prefer it if I was having an affair."

"You've got to be joking," retorted Athos, but Porthos pressed a finger to his lips.

"I need you to know how I feel," he said. "When I told you my secret, you didn't yell at me, or tell me I was a freak. You looked at me with love in your eyes and you asked to be a part of it and since then, even when we've argued, I've never felt anything other than adored and beautiful. That's worth more than anything in the world, Athos. And now I see you doing the same thing for d'Artagnan, making him feel special and loved and accepted. Letting him be whoever he wants to be, without judgement and with total support." Porthos choked up. "And I just wanted you to know how amazing you are as a partner and a friend. I'm shutting up now, before I bawl my eyes out."

"Thank you," said Athos and for the first time in his life he felt worthy of being with Porthos and knew that he was wanted. 

They held each other for a long time without need for words or kisses, raw emotion binding them together. "I'm yours," said Porthos in a gruff voice. "Never doubt it."

"I love you." Athos took hold of Porthos' hand and pressed it against his heart. "Don't tell Dr de Larroque, but you're a much better therapist than she is." Finally he was able to believe that he was loved by this man. There was no need to question it, in fact it was disrespectful to Porthos to keep doing so. "Time for work," he said, letting go of Porthos. It had been a wonderful morning, yet still an emotional drain, emptying him of all his reserves.

"Too right." Porthos smiled at him, his eyes huge and wet. "We've done enough crying between us. No more bloody tears."

Athos then watched intently as Porthos hooked himself into a suspender belt and rolled on a pair of stockings, clamping them in place.

"Now what should I wear?" said Porthos, an innocent look on his face as he hooked on the tartan bra and pulled on the panties. Wriggling into the matching mini skirt, he then slipped his feet into his stilettos and stood up. Adept at walking in them after much practice, he posed for Athos, bending over to give him a cheeky view of his bottom. "Will this outfit do for today?"

"That outfit will do very well for tonight," growled Athos. "Now get it off before I spunk all over your arse."

"I so love teasing you." Porthos grinned. "What do you want me to wear?"

"Corset, stockings and shoes please," said Athos, not that that particular ensemble was any better at keeping his rampant libido under control. "I need one of those cock locks," he muttered. "Or some bromide in my tea."

Cinching Porthos into the corset, he helped him on with stockings and shoes. "Can you manage the stairs in these?" he asked. 

"I'm a dab hand at it," said Porthos, leaning down to kiss Athos on the mouth. "Now let's take some photographs."

Athos followed Porthos down the steps, astonished at how well balanced he was in the high heels. He walked with a combination of elegance and come-fuck-me sex appeal which was no mean feat at six foot eight inches tall. 

"I want to show you something," said Athos as he crossed the hallway and opened a set of double doors into the ballroom. "I don't think you've ever been in here before."

Porthos looked around him and gasped in amazement. "This is incredible."

It was a magnificent room, Athos conceded. It had a marble tiled floor, huge ornate fireplaces and an extravaganza of gold leafed plasterwork. It was, however, lacking in soul and he'd rather be in the kitchen any day.

"I had this idea for a shoot, more high fashion than catalogue, with models posing as dancers at a masked ball, body angles showing off the corsets, faces partially hidden, hands brushing together." Athos clammed up. In his head it had seemed clever, but in trying to describe it he'd made it ridiculous. "I thought it would be better than rows of uncomfortable gym bunnies," he finished lamely.

"It sounds interesting," said Porthos. "Show me what you mean. Take some pictures of me."

With a little direction from Athos to begin with, he then posed instinctively, at ease with his body and shifting himself into a hundred different positions, with Athos snapping him from all angles.

"I was also wondering something," said Athos as he launched himself up onto the high mantelpiece, clicking still after still of Porthos who was constantly moving. "What proportion of men who wear lingerie do you imagine are gay?"

"Most of them, I should think, though I don't really know," said Porthos. "Why?"

"I'd like to have the models touch each other," said Athos. "Not in an overtly sexual way, but provocatively I suppose. A hand tightening on the waist. Resting on a hip. Loaded looks. That kind of thing."

"We should ask Aramis about whether it would make sense to aim for the gay market," said Porthos. "He'd know better than anyone." He walked over to the mantlepiece and looked up at Athos. "Can I see the photos now?"

"No," said Athos from his perch.

"You're stuck, aren't you?" said Porthos with a chuckle. "How did you ever get up there?"

"Grim determination," muttered Athos. He honestly had no idea. It had seemed easy at the time, but getting down was proving to be a different matter.

"Oh look," said Porthos, rubbing the front of his panties. "My cock's tired of being all wrapped up and it wants to come out to play."

Walking around the room, his heels clicking on the marble floor, Porthos let his erection spring free, jutting from his body, all brown and smooth and utterly mouth watering. "Do you like the way it looks?" he said with a grin. "D'you want to play with it? I know I do." 

The slit was leaking a constant stream of precome and Athos could do nothing but sit in his ivory tower and watch the show as Porthos began to pull at himself. He could jerk off too, but it wasn't _his_ cock that he wanted to play with. "One day I'm going to tie you up with your stockings and make you watch me wank for hours on end," he grumbled.

"Sounds like fun," said Porthos, still thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Get me down from here," demanded Athos. "I'll do whatever you want."

Porthos laughed. "But this feels so good. You have no idea how long I can edge. I loved doing this, walking around the flat, my cock ready to burst as it rubbed against the lace."

"Porthos please." 

Enough was enough. Athos took a chance and jumped free of the marble shelf, unfortunately making contact with one of the carved cherubs on the way down, a chubby white hand catching at his chinos and pulling him off balance. He fell awkwardly, his ankle twisting under him as he landed hard, letting out a yelp of pain.

"You prat," said Porthos, rushing over to kneel by his side. "What did you think you were doing? I wasn't really going to leave you stuck up there."

"I wanted to play with your cock," muttered Athos. "My ankle really hurts, but at least the camera's okay." 

"Sod the camera," said Porthos, unlacing Athos' brown leather shoe then easing it and the sock off his foot. 

"How is it?" asked Athos.

"Swelling up and going a funny colour," said Porthos. "Can you move it okay?"

Athos twisted his foot in a circle. "I don't think it's broken, but it hurts a lot," he said in a small voice. "This is not how today was supposed to end."

"No," said Porthos as he kicked off his stilettos and picked Athos up in his arms. "But luckily I have another secret kink for taking care of you and I don't get to do much of that."

"I'm sorry," said Athos.

"Don't be," said Porthos. "Let's get you to the study so that I can ice your foot."

Lying on the sofa, Athos felt downhearted and rather stupid. "I should have been more patient," he said when Porthos returned with mugs of tea, a pack of biscuits and some ice cubes wrapped up in a tea towel.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," said Porthos, lifting Athos' legs and sliding in underneath them then placing the cold pack on his ankle. "There's nothing I like better than cuddling with you on the couch."

"I like it too," said Athos. "Especially when you're wearing my favourite corset and stockings." He shifted a little and leaned against Porthos. "Am I allowed to play with your cock now?"


	10. Chapter 10

When he was in Paris, d'Artagnan had not only been helping Constance choose fabric for their underwear collection, he had also been buying himself a new winter wardrobe.

"Well?" he said, appearing in the kitchen, dressed for the first time as a girl. 

"You look lovely," said Athos, giving Constance a grateful smile.

D'Artagnan was wearing dark tights and flat pumps. He had on a mid thigh A-line dress with a patterned cardigan over the top. He looked stylish and Parisian with his long dark hair shaped around his face and some carefully applied day makeup.

"Very pretty," agreed Porthos. "How would you like us to think of you?"

It was subtle and Athos was proud of Porthos for asking the question.

"I'm not sure yet," said d'Artagnan. "I'm still in discovery." He looked down at his toes. "But I think I feel more like me dressed in these clothes."

"You are you," said Constance. "Now have some breakfast."

"I love you guys," said d'Artagnan. "You're the best friends I could ever wish for." His mascara was running a little and it was time for a group hug.

Later, when Athos was in the living room snapping off loads of photos of d'Artagnan in his new outfit, they were interrupted by a hurricane force Porthos.

"I've done something stupid," he said, clutching at Athos' upper arms.

Athos could feel him shaking. "What is it?" he asked. There was nothing they couldn't overcome together.

"I'll go load these onto the laptop," said d'Artagnan, taking the camera from Athos and leaving the two men alone to talk.

"You know you can tell me anything," said Athos, cupping Porthos' face and stroking a thumb across his cheekbone.

Rather confusingly, Porthos began to strip, taking off shoes, socks, jeans and then finally his thick woolen sweater.

Handsome in his everyday clothes, Porthos was breathtaking beneath them. The corset, he was laced into, was exquisitely made to an ideal design, the dimensions immaculate, the lines elegant. It showed off his body to absolute perfection. It was like nothing Athos had ever seen before on any of the men's lingerie sites.

"You look utterly ravishing," said Athos, speaking quite literally. He was close to ravishing Porthos on the spot.

"Constance is a genius," said Porthos. "She reckons the beauty is in the measurements and the design, rather than the huge cost of fabric. She thinks we can have these made up at a reasonable unit price." He paused. "Are you paying attention?"

"I'm trying," said Athos, doing his level best to restrain himself and not reach out and touch Porthos' naked cock which was hanging thick and heavy from beneath the arches of boned satin. 

"Listen, babe," said Porthos. "Constance has been researching into having them manufactured and she thinks there are still a few garment factories in England and France who can make these up to the standard and cost we require. So now we get to be businessmen."

"That makes sense," said Athos. "We'll fire off some emails to those companies telling them what we require and see if any of them are ready to discuss this further."

"The thing is that off the back of this one corset I just phoned my boss and resigned," stammered Porthos, the sentence melding into one long word. "My letter's already written and signed."

"You star," breathed Athos, hooking both arms around Porthos' neck and nipping at his lower lip. 

"I thought you might be mad at me for being impulsive," said Porthos, thrusting into Athos' hand as he began a slow stroke of his cock. "I'm guessing not."

Falling to his knees, Athos licked a path up Porthos' thighs, tonguing at his balls, and then taking him deep into his throat until Porthos was groaning, moaning, talking a babble of nonsense words. His fingers were threaded into Athos' unruly mop of hair causing an incendiary rise to orgasm and as he let loose, fucking his mouth, Athos reached down to unzip his flies and-

"Don't you dare be having sex in my corset!" came a loud voice from the open doorway. "Get it off now and hand it over."

Silenced by a mouthful of Porthos' cock, Athos was gobsmacked.

"Constance," said Porthos, as he stroked Athos' hair compulsively. "We're a little busy right now."

"Get it off and throw it to me, or I'm coming to take it off you myself."

Porthos hurriedly unhooked himself from the corset and chucked it at the angry woman. "There! Happy now?"

"New rules," said Constance. "No sex in the kitchen, the hallway, the morning room, or the merchandise."

"Okay," said Porthos meekly. 

"I'm off to the village. Do you want me to post your letter?"

"Yes please." 

It was the first time Athos had ever heard Porthos turn into a small and rather nervous child.

"Fat lot of use, you were," the big man grumbled once the door had closed again. 

"I was busy," said Athos as he rested on his haunches and laughed up at Porthos. "I was protecting your honour."

"Protecting my honour, my fucking arse," growled Porthos as he tumbled Athos backwards onto the floor.

"Your fucking dick, to be precise." Athos yelped as his bad foot made sharp contact with the floor.

"Serves you right," said Porthos, stripping him naked and lavishing him with kisses. "And now that I'm unemployed I can punish you all day long."

"I'd like that very much indeed." Athos couldn't think of a better future, underwear business a dwindling insignificance.

Straddling him, Porthos gripped their cocks together. "How's that?"

"Nice," said Athos. It had been ages since they'd loved each other like this and he held out his arms. "Come here and make out with me."

Tangled together in front of the fire, they rubbed, touched, kissed each other, the burn slow, the build to orgasm beginning in the pit of Athos' belly and sending out tendrils of electricity throughout his body.

"That's it, baby," crooned Porthos. "Come for me. Come all over me."

Athos was lost, bucking up, blacking out a little as he was held safe in strong arms with Porthos grinding down and then coming hot and wet in answer. His heart was so full that it ached from the pressure.

"You okay?" asked Porthos.

Athos nodded and gathered his thoughts. "Sometimes it's the simple things, you know?"

"I know," said Porthos, nuzzling at him. "I understand exactly what you mean."

\---

With only two weeks left of Porthos' paid vacation, the four entrepreneurs sprang into a flurry of action. Constance, Porthos and d'Artagnan were up until all hours, designing and making innovative sets of underwear, Porthos becoming quite nippy on the sewing machine once Constance let go of the reins long enough to give him a chance.

Athos, too, had been busy, searching for some reasonably priced, secondhand photography equipment to buy in the Paris area. He came up trumps, finding a guy on Leboncoin who was selling most of his lower end equipment in order to up sticks and move to Africa in order to follow his dream and become a wildlife photographer. It was a trek to go and get the gear, and after two phone conversations with an aggravated Constance and a frantic Porthos, Athos realised he should have told someone before borrowing Constance's car. It was, however, worth it when he arrived back at La Fère with a boot full of lights and reflectors and a case containing a nice Canon full frame DSLR and a whole range of lenses. Steal wasn't quite the word for it since he'd spent a few thousand euros from their savings account, but it was a bargain.

Kissed breathless by Porthos on his return, he was then berated soundly by both him and Constance, with d'Artagnan laughing in the background.

"Words are really useful, babe," said Porthos. "Please try and remember that."

"I didn't want to disturb you," said Athos as they carried his new photography equipment into the house. "So how are we getting on?"

"By tomorrow, we'll have at least thirty samples made up in Porthos' and d'Artagnan's sizes," said Constance. "And I'd ideally like to make a few more before you go to London."

Athos' head was spinning. "If we could shoot a mock up of a catalogue then the manufacturers would know that we were aiming for high end quality as well as reasonable cost. Is it possible?"

"Anything's possible," said Porthos, draping his arm around Athos. "We've forgotten one thing though." He looked around at everyone. "A name?"

"We don't technically need one straight away," said Constance. "We're only asking for samples from the manufacturers."

"But it would make us seem professional." Athos thought long and hard and came up empty.

After half an hour spent trying to forge their initials into something clever they gave up.

"What about Lavish?" suggested d'Artagnan who up until now had remained silent, presumably being the only one using his brain.

Athos grinned at the young man who was still trying to sell his idea to the group.

"It's a simple, memorable word. It goes perfectly with the ideas for the catalogue. It means opulence. _And_ -" Free from the constraints of a cast, d'Artagnan dusted off his hands. "It rhymes with ravish."

"I don't know what everyone else thinks." Porthos looked around at them all. "But I reckon it's genius."

"Absolutely," agreed Athos, whilst Constance just threw herself at d'Artagnan and hugged the breath out of him. 

"There's champagne in the cellar," she said, racing for the door. "This is definitely a champagne moment."

The magnum bottle was old, cold and dusty and might possibly have been worth more than all the camera equipment put together, but Athos couldn't give a damn. Constance was right. This was a time to celebrate.


	11. Chapter 11

Using d'Artagnan as a test subject--the kid was permanently ready to show off that new wardrobe--Athos tried out his new camera, reading up on how to use light, indoors and outdoors, and make the most of such a wonderful backdrop.

"Fantastic stuff," said Porthos as he brought them in coffees and then hunkered down next to Athos, a hand on his thigh as they both looked through the latest shots.

"Will Constance be needing you this afternoon?" said Athos, swinging around and trapping Porthos between his legs. 

He stroked his hand across Porthos' hair, moving downwards to run a finger across his cheekbones and beard. Porthos caught the tip in his mouth and sucked, fellating it and Athos, hardening immediately, heaved in a breath. They'd been so busy recently that after a month or more of endless fucking they'd been going through another enforced lean spell.

"I'm hoping you'll be needing me," said Porthos, kneeling down to brush a kiss over Athos' clothed erection.

"No blow jobs during work hours," said d'Artagnan who was sitting cross legged on the window sill, his pleated skirt rucked up around his thighs as he read the latest edition of Vogue which Athos had been using for ideas.

"It's always work hours," complained Porthos, but he was smiling, his head now cushioned in Athos' lap, and it was these moments of intimacy that were just as important as the sex. The very amazing sex.

"We'll have an early night," promised Athos, his mind now focused on the very amazing sex.

"What were you saying about today? asked Porthos.

"I was hoping I could do some test shots of you both in as many rooms as possible so I can prepare for the actual shoot."

"Sounds fine by me," said Porthos.

"I'm in," said d'Artagnan raising his arm immediately.

"You're always in when there's a camera about," said Porthos in a gruff voice.

D'Artagnan chuckled. "I can't deny that." He jumped off the window seat. "I'd better go make myself even prettier than I am already. Do you want me to wax you, Porthos?"

"No need to," said the big man. "I shave."

"Not recently," said d'Artagnan, eyeing the regrowth of chest hair that was sprouting from the open buttons of Porthos' shirt.

"Wax me where?" asked Porthos nervously.

D'Artagnan grinned. "Everywhere," he said.

"What?" The look on the big man's face was hilarious and, attempting to stand up, he overbalanced and toppled back into Athos' lap. "Shit! I must be way too heavy for you. Sorry."

"It's nice," said Athos, locking him in place. "I can bounce you on my knee."

The kissing was inevitable but ended abruptly with precise blows to their heads from a rolled up glossy magazine.

"No time for snogging, big guy. Upstairs to my beauty salon now," said d'Artagnan. "And bring Athos. You'll need him for distraction purposes."

\---

Athos sat quietly in one of the window seats, blocking out the excited chatter around him and focusing instead on what he was going to do. He'd never shot the two men together and, knowing the way he usually reacted to seeing Porthos in lingerie, he prayed that he'd be able to behave in a professional manner, especially with Constance in the room.

"I bought these for you when I was in Paris last," she said, handing Athos a box. "I thought they might be a useful prop."

Athos opened the packaging to discover two Venetian masks nestled in tissue paper, both of them bejewelled but in totally contrasting tones, light and shade, night and day. They were intricately made and so much more than costume. "Perfect," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Now where do we start?"

"You're the photographer," she said, raising her hands.

"And you're the designer," he countered with a smirk. "We'll figure it out as we go."

Between them, they decided on which outfits which would shoot well together and whilst Athos set up the room, Constance bullied their models into her clothes, taking no heed of the fact that they were naked.

"I've seen willies before," she laughed. "Now get into those corsets and let me lace you both up."

Nervous at first, Athos struggled, but then he let his instincts take over and the ballroom shoot turned out exactly as he had imagined it. Porthos kept his face out of shot at all times, glancing away or using the mask as cover and somehow that made the photographs seem all the more risqué, despite the fact that there was only a hint of touching and a glimpse of flesh. D'Artagnan was the perfect coquettish foil to Porthos. In full makeup he was far too pretty to be a boy, but the muscular torso and swell of cock and balls in skimpy briefs sold the product very well.

Just one look at the test shots told Constance everything she needed to know. "Keep going," she said, kissing Athos on the lips. "This is it."

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," she said, a hand on his shoulder. "It's exactly what we need."

Looking at the photographs with a new sense of purpose, Athos' excitement increased tenfold. His libido, however, remained in full restraint throughout the session, which carried on well into the night as they moved from room to room, with both Porthos and d'Artagnan shattered but enthused, changing into different sets of lingerie as required.

"I have a favour to ask you," said Constance, when Athos was about to get started on the lighting for the library. 

"What?" said Athos, too busy to be distracted.

"I'd like you to model something for me."

Athos shook his head emphatically. "I'm not into wearing knickers and I hate being photographed."

"It would be a massive, massive favour," wheedled Constance. "It's just one item and it's not feminine and Porthos would be with you during the shoot." She looked at him through big blue eyes. "Please. It's the centrepiece of a whole new line I'm planning."

Athos glanced at Porthos, who had come over to see why their conversation had taken on a serious turn. "Do you know what this is about?"

"I have no idea, love." Porthos took hold of his hand. "But let's find out before dismissing it, eh?"

A suit bag was hanging on the back of the door and Athos was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. From it Constance removed a sleek dark jacket and pair of trousers. Nothing unusual there, thought Athos, but instead of a shirt suspended on the hanger there was a corset, matt black and finished to the point of severity with no ribbons or lace and no dangling suspenders.

"You're kidding me?" said Athos.

His doubts were answered, not with words, but with a sharp intake of breath coming from Porthos.

"You'd like me to do this?" he asked quietly, turning to face his lover.

"I would very much," admitted Porthos. "But if you don't want to then we forget the whole thing."

"I'll try on the clothes," said Athos and he looked sternly at everyone. "In private with Porthos."

"Brilliant," said Constance, a hand on his forearm. "That's all I ask. While you're doing that, d'Artagnan and I will have a go at setting up the room the way I want it." She passed Porthos a hanger which had been hidden behind the suit bag. "I'd like it if you wore this," she said, passing him the set which comprised of simple ivory briefs, bra and suspenders, complete with a pair of matching cream stockings.

Athos wasn't sure he understood Constance's vision, but he would do this for her if he could, although he was very grateful that there was no pressure on him if the whole thing became too uncomfortable. 

"Don't forget the shoes," she said, nodding at two boxes that were stacked by the door.

"I dread to think how much money has been spent on everything so far," said Athos as he and Porthos left the library and made their way into the living room to change.

"I don't give a monkey's," said Porthos. "Get your kit off now and put the suit on."

"You're keen." Athos raised an eyebrow.

"Too right, I am," grinned Porthos, naked already. "Your Lordship," he added with a grin.

"Porthos!" warned Athos. The last thing he wanted was to appear in front of the others, dressed in this bizarre get up whilst sporting a raging hard on. "This is why she wanted my measurements," he added as he put on black socks and then tried on the suit trousers. They fitted him as if they'd been tailored especially and were clearly expensive. "She said it was for research."

"I'll help you with the corset," said Porthos, wrapping the boned garment around Athos' body. "It does up from the back so you'd never manage without me."

"Never have. Never will," said Athos, smiling at him over his shoulder. 

As the material tightened around him, Athos began to understand the effect this had on Porthos. He wasn't comfortable in any respect, but it was different and difference brought with it the excitement of the undiscovered journey.

"Now for the final touches," said Porthos, moving around to kneel in front of him, slipping the black Italian shoes onto his feet and then lacing them up.

After putting on his suit jacket, Athos looked down for the first time to see Porthos in his new set of lingerie. It couldn't be more simple in style, unadorned and yet utterly luxurious, and the contrast between the cream fabric and Porthos' dark skin tone was enough to make him tingle from head to toe. It was only when Porthos stood to full height in a pair of cream stilettos that Athos noticed the sculpted channel in the briefs which housed his cock and added a distinctive kink appeal to the virginal set.

"You're astounding," he murmured.

"You should see yourself," replied Porthos, flicking impatiently at his semi.

"I'm sure I look ridiculous," said Athos. He felt it.

"There's a dressing mirror in the hall," said Porthos, ushering him out of the door. "Let's have a shufti."

Imagining he'd look like a drag version of Madonna playing Sally Bowles, Athos saw, in the glass, a new version of himself, anything but feminine, and when Porthos' reflection appeared next to his, it was clear that Constance's vision was unique and possibly far too provocative for their range of lingerie. Nine inches taller, Porthos towered over him, but the severity and design of the menswear left no doubt as to who was in charge.

"Constance will be looking for us," said Porthos, leaning down to lick at the shell of Athos' ear.

Athos shivered with a combination of fear and arousal. "Then let's get this over with so I can take you upstairs to the bedroom and fuck you rigid."

"I'm rigid enough as it is, my Lord," laughed Porthos. "You can fuck me any which way but that."

"As long as it's not in my samples," said a grinning face from the open library door. "Gosh, you both look even better than I'd dared hope. In here now."

Obeying instructions from the actual person in charge, they returned to the set, Athos' fingers brushing across the swell of Porthos' cock as they walked together.

"Oi," he chuckled. "Keep your wandering hands to yourself - for now."

"I'm going to play with the light and see what happens," said Constance and she glared at Athos. "And don't correct me all the time, mister, or I'll be using this on you." She handed Athos a black riding crop, along with a pair of leather gloves. "Your props," she added as she slung a tie around his neck and left it hanging loose. "Stand there by the drapes so I can frame this."

With Porthos side on to him, Athos reached around and rested the crop against his stockinged thigh.

"That's it," said Constance. "Don't even think of moving." Taking a series of test shots, she loaded them onto the Mac and then sighed in frustration. "You two look fantastic, but the lighting's all wrong."

Athos came over to have a look. He could see what the problem was immediately and knew instinctively how to resolve it, however the actual images knocked him for six.

"Thank you for doing this," whispered Constance.

Athos shrugged dismissively, but his confidence, that just weeks ago was failing and on a heart monitor, had now received a transplant. Ego soaring, he set up the room to give the shoot that moody quality Constance wanted, and yet still diffuse light onto the subjects.

"Try that," he said, putting the gloves back on.

His favourite still from the shoot was one of him standing legs apart holding the crop behind his neck with Porthos on all fours in front of him, bum to the camera. It would never be used in print, but would go into their personal archives.

By the time they'd finished the photography it was past eleven o'clock, and after clearing up and changing into ordinary clothes they sat around the kitchen table, drinking wine and waiting for pizza to be delivered.

"Today," said Athos thoughtfully. "Is the day our ship was launched. Let's drink to all who sail in her."

"To Lavish," came a quartet of voices, accompanied by a chinking of glasses.

The toast was repeated often during dinner and was more heartfelt each time.

It was early, as Athos had promised, by the time he and Porthos turned in, although it was the small hours of the morning rather than the night. Drunk on claret and success they fell into the four poster, unwashed and ecstatically happy.

"I thought you'd be too tired," smiled Athos as Porthos settled against him, naked and hard.

"I can't stop thinking about you in that corset and suit," admitted Porthos, "You turn me on so much."

"Then show me," said Athos, his voice altering in tone to something crisp and dominant.

"Yes, your Lordship," said Porthos, shuffling down the bed to kneel between Athos' legs and lap at his balls.

"When I say so, you'll slick yourself up and you'll ride me," said Athos. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Porthos, his voice muffled by a mouthful of hardening cock.

"You will not touch yourself at any time," said Athos. "You'll fuck me until I come and then I'll bring you off afterwards."

"Yes, your Lordship." By now, both of them were panting with desire.

Who needed props? thought Athos, tucking his hands behind his head as Porthos went down on him, submissive and loving. 

It was full daylight by the time they'd finished with each other and claiming dual hangovers they stayed in bed for the rest of the day to catch up on missing sleep and a lot of overdue sex.


	12. Chapter 12

Grumbling, Porthos attempted to get comfortable. "We should have flown home," he complained.

"You know there's less room in a plane," soothed Athos. "Besides which, going by Eurostar means there's no waiting around at airports, plus we both already had our return tickets."

"Stop being logical," said Porthos, resting his head on Athos' shoulder. "You know I hate you when you're sensible."

The kiss to his neck told a different story and Athos smiled. He understood why his partner was in a contrary mood. With enthusiasm levels for their new venture reaching record levels, the last thing Porthos wanted to do was go back to London and work out his notice. Athos sympathised completely and could imagine nothing worse than having to return to corporate life, even for a short while. It was why he'd insisted on coming home with him as support. Plus there was lots to do, handing in notice on the flat and arranging to have their stuff shipped to La Fère. Also he had a handful of meetings with manufacturers who were willing to talk to them about producing samples of Lavish lingerie.

"Should we have brought him along with us?" said Porthos, nodding at the bobbing head in front of them who was currently hearing impaired by the Ministry of Sound.

"Absolutely," said Athos. "He's going to model the range for our manufacturers. If any company can't deal with d'Artagnan, then they're not the ones for us."

"Have I showed you recently how very much I love you?" said Porthos.

"No, but I'm always ready and willing," said Athos with an upward tug of the lips. Shifting in their seats, they moved in close and kissed, soft rather than sexy, but as always, it was highly charged with emotion.

"And will d'Artagnan be sleeping on our sofa?" asked Porthos.

"I doubt it," said Athos. "But if he does then he'll get an eyeful of us at it every night when you come in from work."

"I'll be staying at my mum's," said a voice from in front of them. "I've seen you guys having sex often enough to last me a lifetime. Your naked cocks are burned into my memory."

"We've scarred the little monster," said Porthos, rubbing his hands together in delight. "I'm well proud of that."

An hour later they were in London, being jostled around by commuters and hit by countless shopping bags.

"I can't wait to be back at La Fère," said Porthos with a weary sigh. "Thirty's too old for parties and for city living."

"We'll be home soon," promised Athos, surprised by how much he meant it. "Then we'll get to have the kind of Christmas we've always wanted."

"Roasting our nuts by an open fire," laughed Porthos.

Having parted company with d'Artagnan at the Underground, they struggled back to Islington and were relieved, once the front door had shut, to be away from the hordes of people and that constant drizzle which never seemed to let up.

"I miss the bathtub already," shouted Porthos and there was the sound of running water. "Come and have a shower with me."

Athos careered into the bathroom at cartoon levels of speed, ripping off his clothes and joining Porthos under the spray

"Did you put the heating on?"

"I did," said Athos. "We'll have to stay here until the place warms up."

Porthos was right; it wasn't as relaxing as the huge tub at La Fère, but it was just as exhilarating to be pressed up close, lathering each other with shower gel and kissing, kissing, kissing as if it was soon to be banned. Turning in Porthos' arms, Athos braced himself against against the limestone tiles. "Can you?"

He needed a fuck. He needed a good, hard, cathartic, no nonsense shagging and, luckily, Porthos understood him better than anyone.

Pushing in slowly, Porthos locked an arm around his waist and bit into the muscle of his shoulder. It was glorious and Athos let go of every inhibition, working his cock with a fierce intensity as Porthos hammered into him, his muscles taut and trembling as they both gave in to the absolute physical need.

"Fuck yes yes," he gasped as he ejaculated over the tiles with Porthos lifting him as he finished off inside. "We haven't done it like that for a while," he laughed.

"Nope," grinned Porthos. "That one was for the Animal Planet channel."

\---

The first business meeting on Monday morning did not go well at all. The manager looked at the samples and then at their catalogue with no small amount of disdain.

"I had no idea it would be so homoerotic," he said as he fixed his sneering eyes on the two men.

"It's hardly that," said Athos. "It's a selection of underwear shown off at its best."

"Ladies' underwear modelled by men."

"Men's lingerie modelled by men," said Athos in an ice cold tone. "As we explained to you in the email." He stood up. "Thank you for wasting our time, Mr Blackwood."

He marched out of the building with d'Artagnan following on a couple of minutes later, having collected their samples and catalogue.

"That man was a cocksucker," he said vehemently, lighting an emergency cigarette as he sat on the breeze block wall that surrounded the small factory.

"Or not," said d'Artagnan, nudging him with an elbow. "Which is most likely the problem."

"So, you're saying we have to find a gay factory manager who employs a staff of genderqueer machinists if we have any hope of getting our knickers made?"

"No. I'm saying that this is the first place we've tried," said d'Artagnan. "Don't be so negative."

Athos managed a smile. D'Artagnan might be young, but he was wise and brave. He'd been beaten and knocked back. He was in the nerve wracking process of self discovery, coming out to the world as non binary, and was still sitting here fearless and enthusiastic.

"How can you be so optimistic after everything that's happened?" he asked. 

D'Artagnan considered the question and then beamed at Athos. "It helps that my mum's always there for me, but it's mostly because of you, Porthos and Constance. I know that things aren't always going to be easy, but I'll always have you guys to back me up."

"You will," agreed Athos.

"Plus," continued d'Artagnan. "If you three fell into my life then there has to be a lot of other accepting people out there in the world just waiting to be found." He nudged Athos again. "Factory owners included."

"Shall we go for a coffee?" suggested Athos. He felt drained and could do with a triple shot pick-me-up.

D'Artagnan looked at his phone. "Nope, sorry. I'm meeting my lovely mother at Piccadilly. She's taking me shopping after work for some new business clothes. Porthos'll be home soon. Go out and let your hair down. You need to de-stress."

Taking the sample case from d'Artagnan, Athos him kissed him on each cheek. "Have fun, sweetheart," he said. "Thank you for my pep talk."

"You do enough for me," said d'Artagnan as he hurried off to catch the bus into town.

Feeling lazy, Athos bought a take away macchiato and pastry on the way home and then sat in the pokey living room of the flat. Rather than stare morosely at the telly, he called the landlord and handed in notice, explaining that he and Porthos were moving to France. Having had them as tenants for years and with no axe to grind, the man was happy to let the contract slide and arrangements were made to vacate finally by the end of January.

With self-doubt creeping back in, Athos began to worry whether Porthos would think he was being too hasty and fell into a spiral of panic, self medicating with an early glass of wine.

Porthos blustered in an hour later, the usual force ten on the Beaufort scale, discarding his messenger bag and coat then pouring a glass of wine and throwing himself on the couch next to Athos.

"Bad day?"

Athos nodded. "The guy was a jumped up, condescending, bigoted arsehole and I hope his pissing little factory goes bankrupt tomorrow."

"But other than that it was good?" Porthos slid an arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the mouth.

"I handed in notice on the flat," said Athos. "That was probably wrong too."

"It was very much right," said Porthos.

Athos felt bad. Porthos had been panicking dreadfully about leaving his friends and colleagues in the lurch. "How was work?" he asked.

"They were all lovely," said Porthos. "Just like your people were. I'm not as indispensable as I thought."

"You are to me," said Athos, snuggling up and relaxing for the first time today.

"The worst thing was this," said Porthos, undoing the catch on his trousers and unzipping the fly. The front of his panties were sodden with excitement. "I kept thinking of you," he said, hauling at Athos until he was straddling his knee. "If we were at La Fère I'd be able to have you whenever I wanted, but stuck in an office all day." He let out a groan. "It was an absolute nightmare."

Athos unbuttoned his shirt, running his hands over the exposed bra, teasing Porthos' nipples into hard nubs and then suckling at each in turn until Porthos was sighing with delight. He loved doing this so much, adored the sight of Porthos' full pecs, secured inside a nicely fitted bra. Taking his time, he pulled back the material examining each pert nipple, squeezing it with his fingers, then licking and sucking, nipping it with his teeth and then soothing it with swipes of his tongue.

Porthos canted his hips, fighting to make contact with Athos' cock. Reaching out, he unzipped Athos' trousers and hooked him free of the slit in his boxers, running his nails over hard flesh, teasing him incessantly in return. 

His balls tightening, the inevitable build to orgasm beginning deep inside him, Athos sat up, snatching at Porthos' hands and holding them away from his body. He gazed at Porthos, at the obscene bulge in his knickers, at the nipples peeping free of his bra and without another touch he arched back and came, covering them both with jolts of sperm.

Porthos' eyes widened. "Fuck," he said, pushing Athos onto the floor on all fours then yanking down his trousers and boxer shorts. Using the semen as lube, he tugged his cock free from the snug pair of panties and fucked into him, barely managing more than two thrusts before jerking in climax. "That was- I don't even know."

"All about the foreplay," said Athos helpfully, retaking his original position on the couch, clothes in disarray, covered in spunk and entirely uncaring.

"Do we smell of sex all the time?" laughed Porthos. "I think we must."

"I have no idea," said Athos, sleepy and content. "But if you really need to know then I'll do a survey."

\---

By the end of week one Athos had made little progress. Meetings with three factory managers from the Liverpool Manchester area had been more positive and less discriminatory, but their pricings were way over the top. His telephone calls with French manufacturers had been along the same lines and he was beginning to give up hope of having the garments made by local companies, spending his evenings researching the possibility of importing from China.

After a wonderful weekend with Porthos--wining, dining and loving, enjoying being alone together--by Monday he was refreshed and raring to do business, his air of positivity perhaps the reason for the successful meeting with a small factory owner in Aston, who had been eking out a living making nightwear and undies for older ladies, but was now seeking a new source of revenue.

"So it's naughty knickers for fellers then?" said their new potential business partner, an older man in a rumpled suit who looked at them without judgement.

Athos laughed. "Yes, I suppose you could call it that. Would you like to see d'Artagnan model our current range, Mr Rees?"

"Call me Bill," said the man, looking at the samples on his desk and then at d'Artagnan, confused but not put off. "That would give me a better idea of what you're after."

Once d'Artagnan had paraded the full range of Lavish's wares in front of him, Bill looked through Constance's design instructions and pattern information. "Is there much of a market for this kind of thing?"

"You'd be surprised," said Athos. "There's a lot of stuff available online, but none of it of the quality we want to produce, plus it's very expensive for what it is."

"And yet men still buy it?" said Bill, sucking thoughtfully on an arm of his spectacles.

"Yes, absolutely. Men still buy it," said Athos, praying he wouldn't blush. "I'm sure they'd buy a ton more of it, if it were high end quality at a reasonable price."

"This catalogue of yours is aimed very much toward the gay man," said Bill. "Is that your only target?"

"We're not certain yet," admitted Athos. "I intend to look into that while I'm in the UK."

"Well," said Bill. "I have good machinists who are used to making underwear and I'm happy that I can achieve the unit costs you're hoping for. I'll make up the sample list, ship them out to you and we'll see how we go from there. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Athos, shaking his hand. "Thank you very much, Bill. It's been a pleasure."

"Let's hope we can do business," said Bill, unperturbed when d'Artagnan, now fully clothed, landed a smacking kiss on his cheek, ignoring the frown from Athos.

They left the factory grounds, both a little shaken at the speed at which things had progressed, waiting in silence in the shelter outside the gates for a bus to the train station. 

"I think we may be getting somewhere," said Athos eventually.

"Oh come on." D'Artagnan grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a kiss firmly on his mouth. "Try upping your levels of excitement. We've done it."

"No," said Athos. "Not yet. No getting carried away until we see the samples he makes for us." He stubbed out his post meeting cigarette and kicked the butt down a convenient drain. "Now calm down, be a good girl and I'll take you to see Santa on the way home." It was just a casual bit of fun and Athos thought nothing more of it, putting his arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders and giving him a quick hug as the bus pulled into the stop. 

They caught an earlier train home than expected, sitting opposite each other at a table, eating sandwiches and drinking Coke, when suddenly d'Artagnan looked over at him, his brown eyes warm with happiness.

"I liked you calling me a girl," he said. "It felt right."

"And that's all that matters," said Athos with a smile. "We'll tell everyone when you're ready."

"But I still love my cock," said d'Artagnan and she looked so bothered by this that Athos' heart went out to her.

"Of course you love your cock," he said, squeezing her hand. "It's given you endless amounts of pleasure all your life, but you're not defined by it. You're kind and pretty and clever. You're fun to be around. You're a beautiful girl and one of my best friends. Enjoy who you are. Love who you are."

"I'll try," said d'Artagnan. "Thank you for believing in me." She paused. "Can I come with you when you see Aramis? I think I'm ready to face him."

Athos wasn't at all sure about this idea. D'Artagnan was doing so well, becoming her own person and no longer desperate to be half of a couple. Aramis was handsome and fun, but he was also thoughtless and dismissive at times. "If you do see him then you have to be strong," he said. "Be you. Don't let him bully you."

"Yes, Dad." D'Artagnan grinned cheekily at him. "No one puts your baby in a corner."

"As if I'm old enough to be your father," grumbled Athos, desperately hoping that wasn't the case as he got out his phone to text Porthos.

_All went very well. Will be in town by five. See you at The Grapes for a drink?_

_gr8 news bae. miss u. luv u_ , came the expected reply.

 _< 3333 u 2_ Athos texted, laughing out loud when he read the answer.

_Stop taking the piss!_

This was soon followed by a grainy pic, snapped from under a desk, of a very attractive cock swinging free and easy in a pair of french knickers, the material arranged to show off that perfectly shaped knob.

After seeing this, Athos was tempted to suggest The Welly rather than The Grapes, but they'd both had their fill of that nonsense.

 _On second thoughts, I'll meet you in the bedroom,_ he texted.

_I like that plan. I'll bring the lube and the champagne._

Sighing with absolute pleasure, Athos rested back in the seat, looking askance at d'Artagnan when he noticed her shaking her head. "What?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"You two," she said, smiling at him.

"What?" he repeated.

"You're wonderful," said d'Artagnan. "And don't let anyone tell you different."

\---

"Carry me," slurred Porthos. "My legs don't work."

Athos laughed and propped him up. "I can manage a fireman's lift, but it won't be very romantic."

"I'll walk," said Porthos stoically. "You'd probably drop me."

It was the night of Porthos' leaving do and throughout the evening he had been plied with drinks from well wishers, with Athos happy to remain sober on the sidelines and watch Porthos enjoy himself. After all, it was unlikely he'd be seeing his friends for a while now that he and Athos were moving to France. His leaving present had been the Rosetta Stone program to help him speak French as his failure at language classes had been a longstanding office joke.

"Still okay with this?" asked Athos as he helped Porthos into the cab.

"Yeah." Porthos grinned. "I love taxis."

"Idiot." Athos squeezed in next to him. "I meant about giving up work."

"I'm not though, am I?" said Porthos, sobering up for a second. "We have tons of work ahead of us and all of it's going to be brilliant."

He was a zombie again by the time Athos got him inside the flat, and was actually snoring once he hit the sheets, but he livened up as soon as Athos came back from the bathroom and joined him under the duvet.

"I'm wearing my secret tartan panties," he said with a drunken giggle.

"No, you're not, darling." Athos kissed him on the tip of his very adorable nose. "I undressed you, remember?" Who was he kidding? Porthos wouldn't remember any of this in the morning.

"I'm going to give you a birthday blow job." 

Athos hadn't the energy or, to be honest, the inclination to explain what kind of party they'd just come back from, but when Porthos fell asleep again after a couple of enthusiastic licks, he hauled that gorgeous dead-weight back into his arms, safe in the knowledge that he was happier now that at any actual birthday celebration ever - even the ones that had included full blow jobs.


	13. Chapter 13

Following the code of safety in numbers, all three of them went on the trip to see Aramis, which primarily concerned their budding business venture, but was also about d'Artagnan having an opportunity to assert herself. She'd been working and sleeping with Aramis for over two years, with little to show for it other than an irregular pay cheque and a broken heart.

"Be tough," muttered Porthos, reiterating Athos' words as he pushed open the door and the bell jangled loudly.

Aramis was at the counter, reading a paperback with a trashy cover.

"Good morning," he said without a glance, far from his usual upbeat self. "Browse to your heart's content. I'll be here if you need any help."

"Actually, we do need some help," said Athos and he was gratified when Aramis looked up, promptly ignoring everyone at the counter but d'Artagnan, who was dressed in a well cut suit, with a mid thigh skirt and neat tailored jacket. Her new layered hair style suited her perfectly and she looked elegant and purposeful.

"D'Artagnan, my sweet boy," said Aramis, unable to take his eyes off her. "You look absolutely stunning."

"I prefer to be addressed as a woman," said d'Artagnan, as cool as a cucumber. "And as we're here in a professional capacity I also suggest you keep things formal."

Athos and Porthos glanced at each other. D'Artagnan was handling this perfectly and there was no need for them to interfere.

"I missed you," said Aramis, emerging from behind the counter and approaching her. "I've been trying to call. I phoned your mother who said you were away, but that's all she'd tell me. I've been so worried."

"No need," said d'Artagnan breezily. "Athos and Porthos invited me to their place in France. We've been working on a new business venture and we need some information from you to help with market research."

She opened up the sample case and handed Aramis one of their catalogues. "Our friend Constance has designed an entire range of lingerie for men. She's amazing, as you can see, but we need to know whether this kind of marketing would be successful or whether we should go for a more generic angle, with less emphasis on the gay market."

"We thought you'd have a good idea of the type of people who mostly buy this kind of lingerie," said Porthos. "Gay or straight. Women or men buying presents for their partners. That kind of information would be useful."

Aramis was thumbing through the catalogue, digesting each page thoroughly before turning to the next. "This is precisely what's been missing," he said, finally looking around at them. "This is high end fashion rather than normal retail advertising. All three of you look amazing in these clothes. This will sell and I would do anything to stock this range, however expensive it is." He focused his attention on d'Artagnan. "You look amazing," he repeated quietly.

"Hold your horses," interrupted Porthos. "Like we said, it's all about the research right now."

"Have you got samples with you?" asked Aramis. 

Opening the case, Athos showed him the bras, knickers and corsets that they had brought with them, enjoying the look on Aramis' face as he stroked his hand over the garments and held them against him with the true eye of the connoisseur, as he had titled himself.

"These are beautifully designed and incredibly well made," he said. "Have you talked to manufacturers?"

"That's exactly what d'Artagnan and I have been doing since we've been back," said Athos.

Aramis was torn between staring at d'Artagnan and the lingerie spread out across the counter. "And what kind of price point are you talking?"

Athos showed him the print out from Bill Rees. "This is from our manufacturer," he said with a smirk of satisfaction. He then handed Aramis another sheet. "And these are our intended markups."

"You want to give this collection away?" said Aramis in bewilderment.

"We want to sell good quality lingerie at a reasonable cost and not price men out of the market who'd enjoy wearing stuff designed specifically for them," said Porthos. "I loved all the things I bought from you, but the price was way over the top. I practically paid for the shop."

"I know," said Aramis. "We're an exploitable bunch of customers."

"But that's that thing," said Athos. "We don't want to exploit people. It seems intrinsically unfair to force men into buying badly sized underwear that's not been designed for them, especially when one of the constraints is cost."

"I agree," said Aramis with a grin that was beginning to resemble its former self. "You can get off your high horse."

"We're staying on it for now," rumbled Porthos and it was a definite warning that had nothing to do with knickers.

"I'd give anything for retail exclusivity," said Aramis. 

"That could be arranged for London," said Athos. "Of course we'll be selling online and also seeing if any specialised shops in Paris would like to stock Lavish."

"They'll bite your hand off," said Aramis, looking through the catalogue once more. "I think your marketing plan is spot on. If you want to aim in a different direction at any time then you can always bring out a new range under a different brand name."

This was a very logical idea that had slipped past all of four of them and Athos smiled at the man. "Simple but obvious," he said. "Thank you."

"That sums me up rather well," said Aramis. "I'll have it made up as a slogan t-shirt." His next words were directed solely at d'Artagnan. "I know it's only been a short time, but I've missed you more than I can say."

"Try saying it," said d'Artagnan bluntly. "We're leaving for Paris in a couple of days. My phone works fine over here so perhaps you can call me when you've thought of the words."

"Can I speak to you in private?" said Aramis. "Please. Just for a moment."

After looking at Athos and then Porthos for reassurance, d'Artagnan shrugged and followed him into the stock area of the shop, where the curtain was drawn almost fully on its pole with a metallic swooshing sound.

It was easy to pick out certain words. Sorry, lost and please were three that Athos heard clearly several times over as he attempted to distract himself with other brand catalogues that were scattered over the counter, whilst Porthos sped read the paperback novel. 

Through the partially closed curtain, Athos could see as Aramis dropped to his knees, burying his face against d'Artagnan, running his hands upward, taking in leather knee length boots and thick winter tights. Pushing at the skirt, he tugged at the waistband of the tights until a skimpy pair of panties were revealed.

Athos caught d'Artagnan's eye and shook his head. D'Artagnan, as willful as ever, shrugged, smiled and drew the curtain fully.

"She'll always make her own decisions," said Porthos. "Let's hope this is one of the better ones."

To distract themselves from the sex that was going on ten feet away from them, they laughed at the awkward formality of the other catalogues.

"I'm surprised that Aramis can pick any stock from these," said Porthos, pointing out a particularly traumatised expression on one model. 

"We saw past the rabbits in headlights," laughed Athos. "As I recall, browsing through one of these led to a rather spectacular morning."

"We're always spectacular." Porthos kissed him on the lips and just at that moment the shop door opened, the bell jangled, and they drew unwillingly apart.

"Don't mind me," said a sibilant voice. "I love to watch boys kissing." The man approached the counter, as primped and as preened as a rockstar and dressed head to toe in black, complete with a long leather coat that brushed the floor. "I'm here to see if Aramis has any new stock."

Picking up the Lavish catalogue he flicked through it and drew in a gasp of excited breath. "This is what I've been waiting for." He looked lecherously up at Porthos and back at the page. "You're the main model."

"And he's the co-designer," said Athos with no small amount of pride, putting the samples back into the case. "But I'm afraid none of this is available. It's a new brand that's not yet been launched."

The man swept back his blond hair and snatched up one of the corsets, examining it and holding it against him. "I must have this now," he insisted. "I'll pay you eight hundred."

"Impossible," said Porthos, retrieving it from him. "They're all one off samples."

"A thousand then."

"We hope to bring out the line by the middle of next year," said Athos.

The man frowned then reached for his wallet and handed Athos a card. "Contact me as soon as the collection is available. I'll buy the lot. Money's no object."

With that, he stalked out and left Athos staring at the card. Rochefort, it said across the top in startling black and gilt letters. Though it contained no other information other than the usual sparse contact details. He showed it to Porthos. "Are we supposed to know him? I have no idea who the jumped up little Spike impersonator is."

"I reckon he's a hairdresser," said Porthos. "He's probably getting into his Porsche Boxster right now." He leaned over and twisted one of Athos' wayward curls around his finger. "You should have asked him for a trim. Your hair's longer than d'Artagnan's now she's had hers done."

"I suppose I should," said Athos. Haircuts were one of the things he dreaded more than anything, all that personal chitter chatter as the torturers attacked you with scissors. It was discomforting and unnecessary.

"I was joking," said Porthos, pulling him close. "Don't you bloody dare. I love it." He threaded his fingers into Athos' hair and inclined his head for a proper kiss.

Athos smiled against Porthos' mouth, realising for the first time how free they were with no corporate rules to live by. They could holiday when and where they wanted, keep whatever business hours they chose and Porthos could let his own hair grow into those delightful wild curls as it did when it had its own way. 

The smile turned into laughter and Porthos pulled back, grinning at him. "Oi! How am I supposed to kiss you if you keep sniggering at me?"

"Sorry," said Athos, leaning against him. "But I was just thinking that we have the kind of job where you can legitimately go to work in lace panties and I can answer the office phone naked if I want to."

"Knickers and nudity are still frowned upon at business meetings," said Porthos, giving him a hug.

"Not so," said Athos, thinking of d'Artagnan as she strutted up and down in front of Bill Rees, dressed in corset and stockings. "Fuck the lot of them; we're free of this shit." This expletive heavy outburst had as much to do with his staid upbringing as it did work. "Let's go home, my love."

"Home?" said Porthos.

"Home." Athos nodded. "I think we're done here."

\---

Packing up the flat was a cathartic experience. It was amazing how much useless stuff one acquired over time.

"Which one of you had a wank mag?" sniggered d'Artagnan, waving the offending article at them as she stood at the living room door.

Athos blushed. Turning the pages gave an added frisson to masturbation, something naughty and old fashioned that was missing when looking at porn on an iPad. 

"It may have been me," he admitted. To be honest, he'd forgotten all about it. He'd used it for a while when that petrifying loss of confidence had destroyed his ability to make love to Porthos. Then the drink had taken over and his sex drive had become too sozzled to function at all.

"Ew, the pages are all stuck together," complained d'Artagnan. "I'm being forced to confront my dad's sexuality."

"I'm not your father." Athos glared at her.

"Good, because you're far too filthy." D'Artagnan poked her tongue out and chucked the magazine in the bin bag, returning to the bedroom to have a nose at more of their stuff.

"She's right. You are a dirty boy," said Porthos, resting a hand on Athos' arse. "I'll punish you later."

"Punish me now." Athos challenged him with a smirk.

"If you insist." Porthos hitched in a breath and tugged at Athos' belt, pulling down his jeans and pants and, at the same time, pushing him over the back of the sofa.

Squirming with an unforeseen level of excitement, Athos heard the jingle of Porthos' buckle, felt the intrusion of a slippery finger then the hot burn of that gorgeous cock which was accompanied by the friction rub of lace.

"How many strokes shall I give you?" said Porthos, poised and teasing. "Ten of the best?"

"I've been very bad," said Athos. "At least a hundred."

"Here goes then," said Porthos. "You asked for it. Get counting and no coming til we reach the end."

"One," said Athos as Porthos slammed in, his balls slapping against skin. "Two."

This hit some deep down secret kink all that was buried away inside Athos. His cock, trapped against the leather of the sofa, ached for attention and he could already feel a release building as he counted out his punishment. "Nineteen, twenty." He pushed back against Porthos and welcomed every stroke. "Fifty five, fifty six." By now it was beautiful agony and he could barely remember his numbers.

"Keep counting," growled Porthos. "Long way to go yet, soldier."

"Jesus fuck," moaned Athos. "I can't. I have to come."

"You'll do what I say."

"Bloody hell, guys," came d'Artagnan's voice, pulling Athos back from the edge.

"Get in the bedroom," thundered Porthos. "We won't be done for a while." He ran a finger down Athos' spine. "Now where were we?"

"Sixty one," said Athos, writhing against the feel of Porthos' thick shaft. "Sixty two."

By the eightieth stroke he was burning up, his legs trembling, his insides turning to jelly. He'd never been denied an orgasm like this. Each thrust grazed at his sweet spot and this need was like the ache of a full bladder with an intensity of arousal that he'd never experienced before. "Eighty one."

"That's my beauty," crooned Porthos. "Such a naughty, dirty boy."

Sore from the chafing of the lace and the relentless slam of Porthos' body, Athos took his punishment like a man. "Ninety three," he groaned. Just seven more and he could come. "Ninety four, ninety five." Oh it was so incredibly good. "Ninety six, ninety seven, ninety eight."

At ninety nine Porthos inexplicably stopped, pulling Athos back a little, still embedded and pulsing inside him. His slicked up hand closed around Athos' cock and Athos whimpered with relief. 

"Yes," he moaned as Porthos worked him to a frenzy and then heaved into him until they were both coming with matching cries of relief and then love. "One hundred."

"Fuck, that was crazy," panted Porthos.

"Crazy but very enjoyable," said Athos as they collapsed onto the sofa in disarray, jeans and pants in a tangle. "Now it's cuddle time."

"Can you guess what I've been doing in your bed?" shouted d'Artagnan. "And it's all your fault."

"She really is a little monster," laughed Porthos. "Now we'll have to change the sheets for one night."

\---

The elephant in the room had to be addressed eventually and Athos did so on the car ferry back to Paris.

"Let's talk about Aramis," he said, staring at d'Artagnan in order to judge her response. "How are things between you?"

"Exactly as they were," said d'Artagnan, but then she smiled. "Except that he keeps leaving me voicemail messages."

"Which say what precisely?" asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan sighed. "He wants to see me when I'm home for Christmas. He says he'd like to take me out to dinner."

"Rather than just take down your tights and knickers," said Athos, arching an eyebrow.

"Don't," said d'Artagnan. "He was the one who gave me a blow job, remember? Not the other way around."

"But you still let him use you for sex," said Athos, his lips thinning into a tense line.

"As if you two don't use each other for sex constantly," snapped d'Artagnan. 

"That's quite different and you know it." Athos glared at her. "I'm trying to look after you, d'Artagnan. I don't trust him."

"Well that's where we differ, because I do," said d'Artagnan, lowering her voice. "He's never been anything but honest with me." She rested her hand over Athos'. "I know you care about me and I love that you do, but believe me, I'm not going to let Aramis take advantage of me the way he used to." She smiled. "If he loves me as much he says he does then he's going to have to prove it."

"Fair enough," said Athos. "I hope you mean that."

"And now can we stop scaring the other passengers on this ferry and talk about something more suitable," said Porthos in a gruff voice.

"That rules out both our business and our private lives," said Athos, with a smirk. "What's left to discuss?"

"How about politics?" grinned Porthos. "That's always a non controversial subject."


	14. Chapter 14

As the small removals van pulled up to the front of La Fère, Athos opened wide the huge doors and welcomed the arrival of the delivery men, standing to one side as he watched them carry in packing boxes and furniture.

"Oh, baby. We finally have our own mattress here," sighed Porthos. "That bed is going to be heaven from now on."

"You want to keep the four poster?" said Athos in surprise. "I thought we might buy a new one."

"I like it," retorted Porthos indignantly. "I get great pleasure out of reaming the hell out of your noble arse when you're on all fours for me under the canopies."

"Watch it, or I'll be using the riding crop on you," warned Athos, surprised by the grin of approval he received at these words. "You can think again, Porthos, because I'm not doing that."

"Really? And there was I thinking we could have a little game later, your Lordship," said Porthos with a suggestive smirk. "I've been very bad at my job. Distracted by my handsome master."

It was Athos who turned out to be distracted for the rest of the day, paying the removals men a hundred quid more than was asked for by mistake and then daydreaming his way through dinner.

"What's up with you, chéri?" asked Constance when she'd had her fill of his silence. "I've asked you the same question three times now."

Athos shook himself back to reality. It wasn't just the games with Porthos that had been on his mind, it was also the enormity of being back at La Fère for good.

"Sorry," he said. "It's ridiculous, I know, but this place hasn't been my home for over ten years and-" It was more of a home now than it ever had been with his parents in residence.

As he turned and stared out at the dense darkness outside the window, blinking hard, a large hand crept into his and held on firmly.

"Come on, d'Artagnan," said Constance. "We did most of the cooking so let's leave the men to do the clearing up. I'm taking you down the Tabac for a glass of wine."

After this, there was a three way murmur of conversation which was followed by the shuffle of feet and slamming of doors. Ignoring what was going on around him, Athos remained where he was, staring out at the night, and when the stem of a brandy glass was eased between his fingers, he looked up in surprise.

"D'Artagnan's going to stay at Constance's house in the village," said Porthos, taking Athos by the arm and encouraging him to stand. "They thought you and I should have the house to ourselves for a few hours and I wasn't going to argue with them."

"Why?" asked Athos as they abandoned the messy kitchen and moved through into the study.

"Because, my darling, this place was your so called home for twenty years and it seems to me that it fucked you right up," explained Porthos. "Now it's your home again and I want us to be happy here, so I reckon we need to have a talk about what's getting you down."

Athos laughed, not a huff of wry amusement but one of those genuine expressions of pleasure that came to him so rarely. Here he was, lying cuddled in Porthos' arms in this beautiful chateau. What on earth could be better?

"I promise you nothing's getting me down," he said, resting his hand against Porthos' cheek. "This isn't just my home, it's _our_ home, and I'm incredibly happy." He stretched upwards for a kiss. "Happier than I've ever been in my whole life. I suppose I was melancholy earlier because I was wishing it could have been like this when I was young." All of a sudden he felt guilty. "How can you worry about me when you've never even had a home of your own?"

"Not true," said Porthos. "I've had one for five years." He rested his open palm across Athos' heart. "Right here."

Athos blinked again, several times in a row, until finally he was collected enough to speak. "So, we've established we're both feeling positive about our move here?"

"Seems that way," said Porthos in a gruff voice, his breath tickling Athos' ear. "And as a bonus we have the whole mansion to ourselves tonight."

"We can be badly behaved in every room," said Athos, smiling at him.

"Or," said Porthos. "We could turn in early and make the most of our new improved bed, with its bouncy mattress and those posh sheets from Harvey Nicks you love so much."

Athos could think of nothing better than getting naked between Egyptian cotton and making love for hours. "Well, come on then," he said, tugging impatiently at Porthos' hand. "I think you'll find it's bedtime. D'Artagnan can pay for her keep and wash the dishes in the morning."

\---

Business slowed to a snail's pace as they waited for the samples to arrive from Bill's factory, none of which were expected until some time in the new year. Between them, Constance and Porthos designed a few more pieces for the range, one of which was a fantastic crimson basque with matching panties, ruffled and exotically sexy with the ability to take Athos' breath away before he'd even seen Porthos model it for him. After viewing, he was promptly kicked out of the morning room - _before he messed with the merchandise_ , to quote Constance.

With Christmas knocking at the door, Athos left them to their lingerie and spent his time shopping, at a leisurely pace, for presents in Paris. The days he took d'Artagnan with him were more frenetic. She was a magpie, endlessly distracted by pretty things, trying on hats and jewellery and making Athos wait for hours outside changing rooms.

"You're spoiling your girlfriend, Monsieur," said one of the assistants when those puppy eyes worked a treat and he was silently cajoled into spending a small fortune on some party clothes for her.

Shrugging, he handed over his credit card, vowing never to make the same mistake again when d'Artagnan piped up loudly in response.

"He's my daddy not my lover."

The look the man gave them was one of utter mystification.

"I can't take you anywhere." Frowning, Athos handed d'Artagnan the bags and then marched out of the shop.

"Stop being a grump," said d'Artagnan, catching up to him and grabbing his arm. "Let's go to Pigalle. We can buy some naughty presents for our boys."

Having expected d'Artagnan to head straight for the Supermarché or the Sexodrome, Athos was pleasantly surprised to find that she preferred the more discreet shops that sold an eclectic range of toys. Parting with even more money, he was pleased with his purchases, though thoroughly fed up of shopping by the time they'd finished.

Having found a relatively quiet backstreet bar near Sacre Coeur, they sat outside, ignoring the icy cold weather and sharing a bottle of wine, both of them chain smoking as they watched the passers by scurry around like insects.

Finally bored of Christmas shoppers, d'Artagnan grinned at Athos across the table. "See what I got for Aramis," she said, producing from one of her many bags a curiously fashioned glass dildo. 

"Put it away," said Athos, flustered by her behaviour.

"It's not as if I've got my actual cock out," said d'Artagnan, running a finger up the shaft and laughing at him. 

Athos gave in and laughed back. "Is it for sex or ornamentation?"

"Sex, I hope," said d'Artagnan. "Or I'll be wanting my money back. Aramis'll love it up him."

Athos shook his head, trying to dispel the unwanted picture inside his head. 

"Am I turning you on?" D'Artagnan grinned.

"Far from it," said Athos with a quirk of the lips. "I'm praying the dreadful image won't return to haunt me at an inappropriate moment."

"Bastard." D'Artagnan topped up their wine. "I bet you thought I'd be the one bottoming all the time."

Athos shrugged, his usual method of conversation when d'Artagnan became too much to cope with.

"Well," continued d'Artagnan. "You'd be wrong because Aramis loves a good hard shagging and he can't wait for me to fuck him, all dressed up."

"So, once again he'll be using you for sex," said Athos.

"Shut up," said d'Artagnan in a sulky voice as she drained her glass. "Let's go. I'm sick of Paris."

"Think about it carefully," said Athos as they headed for the Metro. "Don't just fall at his feet and be his fascinating but inevitably short lived new fetish."

"I hate you," muttered d'Artagnan. 

"You want me to be your father," said Athos. "And so I'm going to do my job properly." He paused. "Are you certain he's not in love with Marsac?"

Stopping in her tracks, d'Artagnan wilted visibly. "No," she said in a small voice. "I'm not certain at all. Why do you have to be so fucking astute?"

"Because that's what dads are for," said Athos, looping a hand around that neat little waist. "Let him do all the running, d'Artagnan. Make sure he knows what he's missing."

\---

It was Christmas Eve and Athos was an ecstatically happy man because La Fère was now theirs for the entire duration of the holidays. Early this morning, laden with bags of presents, D'Artagnan had set off for London, and after leaving a stew to slow cook in the range, Constance had just departed for her parents' house. The only fly in the ointment was having a hallway festooned with Christmas decorations, all of them strewn over the floor.

"How many rooms are we supposed to decorate?" asked Porthos in confusion.

Athos had no idea. Constance had organised this to her usual format and it was baffling. There were at least three Christmas trees propped against the stairs. Back at the flat, they had one artificial five footer that they threw a few baubles at before they jetted off somewhere exotic for the season. This was all new and they were two bewildered babes in an indoor forest of greenery.

"The study, for definite, because we spend most of our time in there," said Athos, making an executive decision.

"And the hall, I suppose, in case we get carol singers," added Porthos.

"We don't do that in France," said Athos, looping a string of lights around his hand.

"That's a relief," said Porthos. "What do you do?"

"Nowadays we have a big American Christmas, like everyone else," laughed Athos. "But traditionally we go to midnight mass, then have a feast afterwards and stay up all night."

"And how did your parents used to celebrate?" prompted Porthos.

"They didn't really bother until their big show off party at New Year."

They'd always bought him one expensive gift, but it was the housekeeper who had filled the shoes at the fireplace with sweets and cheap little toys. Athos had learned, early on in life, the true identity of his Père Noël.

"What was it like with your foster parents?" he asked in return.

"Some were kind, others not so much, but being with a family was always better than being stuck in one of the residential homes. That was pretty grim." Porthos shrugged. "Basically, I never expected anything so I was never let down."

Athos hugged him hard, the chain of lights now draped around those broad shoulders. For two people who'd had such a small amount of affection shown to them, they'd successfully fought the statistics and were excellent at being in love with each other.

"Are you trying to decorate me?" said Porthos, holding an LED bulb between finger and thumb.

"Don't need to," said Athos. "You're handsome enough as you are, but I'd hazard a guess that you're all prettied up under those outer layers."

"What are you suggesting, my Lord?"

Athos' lips tugged upwards. "I'm suggesting we put the decorations up quickly so that I can find out what lies beneath."

"Then let's make this Christmas thing happen," said Porthos and, leaning in, he kissed Athos on the mouth, soft and sweet quickly turning to something much needier. "I'm putting you down now," he murmured. "Before we both begin unwrapping our presents way too early."

To begin with, they were a disaster at the _Christmas thing_ , the house becoming more of a shambles as time wore on. Slowly, however, they evolved some kind of method from the disorganised madness and once the hallway and living room were done, it was time to decorate their favourite space with the smallest of the trees.

"I like it," said Athos, standing back to admire their work. "Do we need to cover it with tinsel and ribbons?"

"I think you just failed the entry exam for gay school." Porthos grinned at him. "But, yeah, I agree. Why mess with perfection?"

The tree, bejewelled with a mass of tiny coloured bulbs, was beautiful.

"We should follow French tradition and stay the night in here," said Porthos as they sat on the sofa with trays on laps, eating bowlfuls of stew and watching the newly installed big screen television.

"We've already done the feasting part," said Athos, putting the tray down and rubbing his full belly.

"I'll be feasting on you later," said Porthos, stretching out across the couch, his head cushioned in Athos' lap as he smiled up at him. "Could anything be better than this?"

Athos played with Porthos' curls. "We could have a fire that stoked itself, but other than that, no." He smoothed his other hand over Porthos' torso, a finger tracing the muscular contours of his abdomen. "Can I unwrap you now?" he asked, toying with a shirt button.

"Please do," said Porthos, husky voiced, his eyes glinting with excitement.

Unfastening the shirt with slow precision, Athos breathed out as he encountered a bra that he'd never seen before, black with ruffled edging and scarlet ribbon, a design that was clearly Constance's because only she had the ability to shape and sculpt pectoral muscles to perfection.

"I'll have to take that crop to your bottom if you stole this from the collection," smirked Athos as he fingered the lace and tweaked at the material to reveal Porthos' hairless nipples.

"It's part of her Christmas present to us," said Porthos. "Isn't it gorgeous?" He laughed, turning his head to kiss Athos' clothed erection. "No need to answer that. I can see how much you like it."

Athos wriggled free, leaving Porthos propped on some cushions then sprawled over him, mouthing at each breast in turn, nuzzling at those satin encased nipples. 

"I want to play with your cock," said Porthos, canting his hips to grind against Athos' hard on.

"Not yet," said Athos, sitting up and straddling his chest. "But I'll let you see it, if you like."

Unzipping slowly, he eased his aching cock and balls out of the open fly of his chinos and then stroked himself once, twice, all the while staring down at Porthos' tits.

"Tease," said Porthos with a very definite pout.

Athos kissed that sulky mouth and then knelt up. Bracing himself on the arm of the sofa, he held the shaft of his cock and then leaned in, rubbing the glossy head across a ruffle of lace and then into the slight cleavage formed by the bra.

"Christ alive," muttered Porthos. "This is a first." He moaned loudly as Athos tugged the bra down a little then pressed the head of his cock against a nipple and began to stroke firm and fast. "Will you undress me?"

His cock jerking, throbbing, twitching in his hand, balls aching to release their load over those gorgeous tits, Athos moved away, crouching beside the sofa, shaking as he unfastened the heavy silver belt buckle then fly buttons, revealing the skimpiest, prettiest pair of knickers, nothing more than a band of lace at the sides with all of Porthos' cock and balls encased inside a barely there fishnet pouch. 

"I want you to wank over my panties," said Porthos in a hushed whisper.

Athos smirked. "With you in them?"

"Yeah." Porthos growled at him. "With me in them."

Sitting astride Porthos' legs, Athos began to masturbate, his cock and balls jutting from his open fly. Reaching out, he ran a finger down the mesh covered length of Porthos' shaft and then teased a droplet of precome from the slit.

"Rub yourself off on me," said Porthos, his eyes huge and dark. "Please. Go for it. Just let yourself go. Use me. Mess me up."

Given this kind of licence, Athos relinquished every ounce of restraint, fist flying as he pushed himself to the edge and then coasted, grinding against Porthos and jerking just the below the head of his cock with finger and thumb. Too close, not wanting this to be over just yet, he blanketed himself over Porthos, licking at his tits, sucking at the nipples through the thin material and grinding against his erection.

Calmer now, he knelt once more, hips thrusting, thighs trembling as he got into the stroke, every part of him focused on his hardness, how good it felt to be a man and wank himself off with Porthos below him, encouraging him with every word, every gasp, every buck of that big body. Braced again, he could feel the strong pulse of blood and with a hand streaking over himself, he rubbed against Porthos' pantie clad erection and jerked them off together.

"All over me," gasped Porthos.

Athos sat proud, muscles trembling as his eyes flickered over Porthos, taking every inch of him in as he stroked himself off to a glorious orgasm, the never-ending ropes of come a perfect contrast to dark skin and black panties. The surprise of his life was when Porthos then cried out and climaxed, his semen seeping through the mesh and then pooling onto his skin.

"I was going to bend you over and fuck you, but you were too gorgeous for that," laughed Porthos. "God, the way you make me feel. I can't begin to describe it."

"Don't even try," said Athos, curling around him. "Let's just enjoy being filthy, kinky and madly in love."

Later, after watching some Morecambe and Wise on one of the Sky channels which inexplicably made Porthos laugh like a drain, they went upstairs and had a bath together then dried each other off.

"I got us these," said Porthos reaching under the bed and he sounded so embarrassed that Athos was wondering what new kink was about to be revealed. 

Instead the bags contained warm pyjamas, slippers and dressing gowns. 

"For our first nut roasting Christmas by the fire," said Porthos to which Athos unexpectedly and rather humiliatingly let out a single but rather loud sob. "My own darling." Porthos hauled him into his arms as they sat on the bed, doing that rocking thing that always made Athos feel loved and safe.

Dressed not to kill, but to cuddle, they made their way carefully down the stairs, their arms full of quilts and pillows ready to construct a makeshift bed on the rug, not too near the fireplace, where they could lie together in a cocoon of Christmas cheer.

With Porthos still guffawing at nonsense on the television, Athos looked over at the star lit tree in front of the window and contemplated the twists and turns of life. "Last year we were in Bermuda and the year before that it was a cruise."

"God, do you remember that horrible hotel in Cuba," said Porthos. "That was bad."

"Why have we never just rented a cottage and relaxed by an open fire?" asked Athos.

"Because we knew this was here waiting for us," said Porthos. "And now it's ours."

They saw in the arrival of Christmas Day with champagne and kisses, which led to a leisurely removal of the new pyjamas and a slow exploration of bodies with fingers, lips and tongues. This culminated in some sensual switch and switch about lovemaking as they pushed each other to new highs. 

"Why have we never done this before either?" said Porthos as he pulled out of Athos and reseated himself.

Athos groaned with pleasure watching as Porthos sank down onto him. "I don't know. This is the kind of feast I'm more than happy to stay up for." He stroked his fingernails over the length of Porthos' cock. Everything tonight was about subtlety: a nip of teeth, a tickle, a breath, licking rather than sucking, a shimmy rather than a grind of bodies.

It was the best feast ever as they gorged on each other. Hours later they were still entwined, moving languidly together, Porthos inside Athos, making love to him with elongated pushes of cock, their mouths brushing over skin then coming together for delicate kisses.

Athos was beaded with perspiration, wrung out, strung out in a delicious way, a junkie waiting for his fix. "Oh god, this," he moaned as they twisted around again and he was easing himself into Porthos, a hand resting on the swell of his bum as he lavished that broad back with a hundred close mouthed kisses. "I love you," he breathed as a glimmer of winter sunshine broke through the morning cloud cover, limning Porthos with its cool yellow light.

Switching positions for the final time, Athos stretched out on his back, legs lifting, arms enfolding as Porthos took him and made him his forever. They kissed hard, moved together harder and then came in a sudden and spectacular rush of love.


	15. Chapter 15

Curled up warm beneath the feather duvet, Athos reached for his man and found, to his dismay, that the far side of their makeshift bed was empty. There was, however, a fire burning in the hearth and a tray of coffee and croissants on the table.

Remembering that it was Christmas Day, Athos pulled on pyjamas, slippers and dressing gown then opened the cupboard doors to take out the bag of presents he'd tucked away inside there days ago. The good thing about La Fère was the massive amount of hiding places. Not too long ago, if they'd been living here, there would have been wank mags and knickers stowed in every nook and cranny.

Huffing with laughter at the thought of this, he arranged the presents around the tree, then after pouring two cups of coffee from the cafetiere he tied his robe around his waist and wandered off to find his partner. "Porthos? Joyeux Noël, my love."

"Morning, baby," came a voice from upstairs. "Happy Christmas."

Athos looked up towards the landing and his heart skipped a beat. Cinched into that ruffled scarlet basque, his nipples peeping out enticingly, Porthos approached, a delight, a provocateur, stepping jauntily down the stairs in thigh length red leather boots. Over his shoulder was a bagful of gifts, but there was only one thing Athos wanted to unwrap.

As Porthos reached the bottom step, Athos fell to his knees, licking up each glossy boot then biting at the stocking tops and suspenders. Moaning, he nuzzled at Porthos' thighs, face pressed against him as he breathed in his scent and felt the throb-throb-throb of blood as Porthos filled, his cock expanding into every inch of the satin and lace of the scarlet knickers.

His own cock having worked its way out of the opening of his pyjamas, was jutting from the folds of the robe. Ignoring it, Athos tugged at the elastic of the panties, breath hitching as Porthos' erection unfurled itself and sprang free. Taking the head into his mouth, he swirled his tongue over hard flesh, suckling avidly at the sweetness.

"Not yet," laughed Porthos, gently pushing at Athos, then easing his erection back inside the ruffles of Mère Noël 's Christmas knickers. "Everyone knows you save your biggest present until last."

"And you're my biggest?" Athos laughed up at him. "I didn't get my pony?"

"No." Porthos grinned. "But you can ride me later."

"I can't wait." Sitting back on his haunches, Athos surveyed the prettiest of all pictures with an artist's eye. "Can I get my camera?"

"Sure." Porthos smiled with pleasure. He loved having his photo taken as much as d'Artagnan did. "You do that and I'll put the bloody goose in the oven."

He was still miffed about not being able to get a turkey at short notice, but Athos was happy enough. Goose was more traditional and far nicer. 

Grabbing his little Nikon from the dresser in the kitchen, he took some test shots of Porthos bent over at the range, his arse looking particularly gorgeous in red.

"Are you taking advantage of me?" grinned Porthos as he stood up, unwavering in his heels.

"No, but I can if you want me to." Athos snapped off shot after shot of Porthos posing for him. He looked so outrageously sexy. "You need to adjust your panties," he said all husky with need. "There's something ruining the line."

Porthos perched his bum on the kitchen table, rolling the briefs down and releasing his cock. "Is this the problem?"

Athos' own cock freed itself as he took more pictures, moving in for some erotic close ups. "Far from a problem in my eyes."

"Lie on the table," said Porthos, all breathy with need.

Athos did as he was told, still snapping photos as Porthos used one of the chairs as a step and then stood astride him. The angle was glorious. His partner was a god all dressed up as a goddess, his balls encased in satin, his cock jutting out proudly.

Balanced perfectly Porthos squatted, holding Athos carefully in place as he took him into his body and, joined fully, they let out a mutual sigh of pleasure.

"Don't let anyone see these," laughed Porthos as Athos took a few more close ups of their sex.

Putting the camera aside, Athos concentrated on Porthos. "I thought we were waiting?" he smiled, his hand resting in proprietary fashion on Porthos' thigh.

"When can I ever wait for you?" 

Porthos was strong, vibrant with energy and so damn handsome that Athos often lost both the power of speech and the ability to breathe in his presence, but never more so than today as they fucked hard in this most inappropriate of places, him still clothed in his new pyjamas with Porthos radiant in red, towering over him. There was no teasing play this morning, just an inexorable push to to a blissful, shared orgasm, and afterwards, Athos took a few more photographs of them, silent and coming down from the rush, tucked around each other like those babes in the wood.

"Constance would kill us," said Porthos and taking the camera away from Athos, he kissed him slowly and carefully and then took a hundred shots of his sleepy post sex expression. "I'm so ridiculously happy it hurts."

Athos smiled at him. "I love you," he said softly. "Best Christmas ever."

It was partially the discomfort, but mostly the smell of roasting plastic that eventually made them move.

"Did you clean the goose?" asked Athos as he took the roasting tin out of the oven, choking at the cloud of smoke that accompanied it.

"No," said Porthos, looking at the tray in confusion. "What the fuck is inside that thing?"

"Its insides," smirked Athos, extracting a melting parcel of giblets.

"Fucking geese," said Porthos looking sorrowfully at the mess. "I knew we should have ordered a turkey."

"They come with giblets too." Athos tucked an arm around his miserable boyfriend as they surveyed the smoking bird. 

"I ruined our first proper Christmas," muttered Porthos.

"Don't talk rubbish," said Athos. "You made it memorable. Bertrand will be opening later so we can always stroll down and eat there, but honestly I'll be more than happy with ham sandwiches around the television." He reached up on tiptoe to kiss Porthos. "Anything is perfect as long as you're with me."

"Sweet talker," said Porthos kissing him back and then tipping the blackened raw goose in the rubbish bin. "I'll make us some fresh coffee."

Armed with a second breakfast tray, Athos led the way into the study followed by Porthos who was carrying his bag of presents.

"Santa's been," he said with childish excitement as he placed his own gifts under the tree. "How much have you been buying, you spendthrift?"

"You were busy and I was bored," said Athos as they sat in the nest of duvets, cups of coffee in hand and plate of spiced biscuits resting between the two of them. "What is it, my darling?" he asked, as Porthos turned a little and hid himself, his breath ragged and warm.

"Nothing must ever spoil this," said Porthos.

Athos remembered thinking a similar thing recently when they were less secure together, but back then it was more of a prayer for the future. "It won't," he said, resting his hand against Porthos' cheek and leaning in for a kiss, full of faith. "I promise."

"You're turning me into an emotional mess," said Porthos. "Stop doing it."

"Perhaps it's the ladies underwear rather than me," smirked Athos.

It was a good job they'd finished their coffee because after dropping his jaw at this cheeky comment Porthos then launched himself at Athos, tickling ribs and armpits until he was sobbing with laughter and helpless. 

"Take it back,' he said, trapping Athos between his knees.

"What? All your gifts?" smirked Athos. "Well I suppose. If you insist."

Porthos growled, his cock hard and full once again, pressing against Athos. "Teasing time is over," he said, his words a contradiction to that slow thrust of hips. "I want my pressies now."

With It's a Wonderful Life on the television, they carried over armfuls of presents and then lazed together, cuddled up in a heap and tearing at gaudy paper, until a veritable mountain of gifts appeared: games, clothes, aftershave, books, an expensive watch for Athos, a new iPad for Porthos.

"This is nice," said Porthos extending the vowel sound as he unwrapped a full length sheer bodystocking. "I'm going to try it on."

He appeared a few minutes later encased from shoulder to ankle in black lace, the material clinging to him in exciting ways and calling to Athos. If they hadn't had a fuck, just a couple of hours ago, he would have been on him like a bitch in heat. As it was, he knelt in his customary position, running his hands lasciviously from gloss black shoes upwards, taking in fabric covered legs and fondling that big erection that was tucked away behind a barrier of lace.

"I could eat you up," he said, licking from balls to tip.

"I like it when you do." Porthos beamed down at him, next present in hand. 

Grabbing his camera from the table, Athos took more pictures of the beautiful colossus who was standing astride him. "I like it when I do too," he said, kneeling once again and swiping his tongue up and down the length of Porthos' cock, loving the roughness of the lace and the sweet seepage of fluid that oozed through.

"Aren't you going to open more stuff?"

"Got all I want here," muttered Athos, rubbing his face against Porthos in between those delicate cat licks.

Laughing Porthos pushed him away with a gentle hand to his shoulder. "You're going to make me come in my new pretties."

"That's the general idea." Athos raised an eyebrow, leaning in for more treats then pouting when once again he was rebuffed and Porthos sat next to him, resplendent in lace from head to toe. 

"Behave yourself, you randy little sod," said Porthos, dumping a present in his lap. "See what you've got here."

The twinkle in those brown eyes told Athos that this particular gift bag was unlikely to contain body wash and moisturiser. Inside it were two neatly wrapped items. The first proved to be the largest pump dispenser of lube that Athos had ever seen. 

He looked askance at Porthos. "How thoughtful of you."

Porthos chuckled. "You may be needing it," he said with a grin.

The next parcel contained an extraordinary looking butt plug. Sleek and black, it was bulbous in all the right places and as Athos unfastened the packaging he found himself shaking with excitement. They'd never investigated toys as a couple, having been so ready always to be in each other, but it was something that Athos was very much looking forward to trying. 

"It's got a remote control," said Porthos, his voice thickening with lust. "You can use it anywhere, even in the bath." His voice grew even more husky. "I could-"

Athos smiled at him, curling a hand around his neck and reeling him in for a kiss. "You could have the remote."

"Fuck, Athos." Porthos clawed at him, drawing him closer, delving into his mouth. "God, I need you. Can we play now?"

His cock was a stiff ridge inside the lace and he looked stunning. Athos found himself gazing in speechless delight, full of love, pride, lust. Simply full. "Always," he said reverently.

Porthos knelt and with the utmost care he slipped off Athos' slippers and pyjama bottoms, leaving him naked from the waist down. "My beautiful man," he said as he opened Athos up with slick wet fingers and then maneuvered the massager inside him. "How's that?"

"Big," gasped Athos. It was a tight fit and he was stretched in ways he never thought possible as he rocked his hips and the bulbous knob pressed against his sweet spot. "Good."

Porthos smiled, helping him on with his pyjama bottoms and easing his cock out of the open fly. "Ready?" he asked, the remote control in his hand.

Athos nodded, already stimulated beyond belief as he canted his hips. "Go on. Try it."

It was a blistering, mind blowing sensation, the vibration inside him causing him to arch backwards, stretched to his limits, his cock jutting out at full erection.

Camera poised, Porthos took a series of pictures, altering the level of vibration until Athos was crying out for him, the snap of a leather band accompanied by a whiff of poppers causing him to writhe with abandonment. One stroke of cock would bring him off, but he had no intention of coming just yet.

The vibration now switched off, Athos lay boneless in Porthos' arms as they kissed and kissed, luxuriating in each other for the longest time.

"We should open some champagne," said Porthos, looking at his new wristwatch. "It's the thing to do on Christmas Day."

"No." Athos shook his head vehemently. "You're not moving an inch from here."

"I am," said Porthos with a grin and then following it up with a kiss. "I have to pee."

Athos watched him go, appreciating that wonderful lace clad arse as he strutted out of the room in heels, dressed to make all mouths water.

It was the strangest sensation ever to be alone in the room and have that vibrator buzz into life, rubbing against his prostate until he was spread out on the floor, cock restricted by leather, poking out red and angry from his pyjamas. Moaning, he pulled the trousers down to mid thigh, stroking a finger over his swollen balls and jerking involuntarily at the throbbing inside him.

"Now, if that isn't the prettiest sight ever," said Porthos, leaning against the door jamb with a bottle and two glasses in one hand, the remote control in the other. "I might have to climb on board."

"Do it," moaned Athos, barely able to keep his hands off his cock.

Pouring the wine Porthos stretched out next to him, teasing him with nuzzling kisses to his neck and then opening his pyjama jacket and suckling at his nipples.

Athos arched into his touch, rubbing up against lace covered skin as the sensations ripped through him. Wriggling downwards, he mouthed at Porthos' cock and then growling low in his throat, he tore at the material with his teeth, releasing Porthos from the bodystocking.

"You ruddy hooligan." Porthos rolled him over and sprawled on top, restraining him with hands clamped around his wrists. "You broke my present." 

Far from angry he shimmied his hips, letting their cocks mate, wet heads resting together as they kissed. "I want you in me," he said, their mouths barely apart.

Rolling over again, Porthos took Athos with him until they were on the hearth rug, Porthos' legs hooked around Athos' shoulders, Athos pressing on, pushing in, until he was embedded and they were joined. Filled and fucking at the same time, he cried out at the duality of the pleasure.

"I can feel it," said Porthos, his eyes wide. "I can feel it vibrating in you." 

He increased the level on the remove and Athos became a machine, coasting on sensation as he fucked hard into Porthos, the animal side of him taking over as he fought against the tight cock ring and that intense stimulation of his sensitive insides.

"Hard as you can, baby," groaned Porthos, teeth gritted, eyes wide open as Athos had him. "That's it. That's perfect."

Frantic by now, the lace bodystocking tore further as Athos screwed Porthos with as much force as he could muster, fingernails biting into skin, sweat beading and then dripping.

"Oh shit yes," yelled Porthos and Athos grew wet and hot, slippery with semen as he shuddered and climaxed again, more and more, collapsing forward as he emptied himself of come and refilled the space with love.

Sated for now, they took to the stairs and bathed together in the ancient tub, testing out various shower gels and shampoos, but spending ninety percent of the time lounging in the hot water and kissing each other until their faces were sore from beard burn.

"Let's go out to dinner," said Porthos, looking out the window. "It's lovely tonight, all cold and frosty, and I fancy the idea of having a walk with you."

"I fancy the idea of you." Athos smiled at him, reaching up to unwind one of those gorgeous curls. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

Wrapped up against the icy wind from the north, they walked hand in hand to the little Tabac in the village. The owner, Bertrand, was too fond of company to ever consider closing, even on Christmas Day, and he welcomed them as family, kissing them twice on each cheek. Without a second thought, Porthos spoke to him in French, chatting away about the Christmassy weather and asking him about his daughter Jeanne. Proud of his partner for adapting so quickly to life here, Athos took a step back, hanging their coats on the rack in the corner and sipping at the wine that Bernard had poured.

"I said we'd have the goose," said Porthos after they'd clinked glasses together in a toast. "I bet he won't cook it with plastic stuffing."

"An easy mistake to make," said Athos.

"You wouldn't have done something so stupid," said Porthos.

"Only because I stay away from the kitchen." Athos smiled at him. "Still, our goose is not cooked and that's a good thing in English I believe."

"Our goose will never be cooked," agreed Porthos.


	16. Chapter 16

Spending a week in solitary confinement, entirely engrossed in each other, was a pleasure that neither of them had experienced before. Other than Christmas Day dinner at the small Tabac in the village and one trip to the supermarket to stock up on supplies, they were totally alone and revelling in it, living together harmoniously, loving each other joyfully and often. It was a perfect holiday.

As Christmas drew to an end, Porthos found new pleasure in the bitter cold snap that brought with it the occasional shower of fine snow, leaving a covering on the fields and the frozen pond. Athos enjoyed watching him play, making footprints up and down the paths as he wandered off towards the woods, under the pretence that they needed more logs for the fires. Athos knew that the wood store was filled to its rafters, but why spoil a man's fun?

With no plans other than to see in the New Year just as quietly, Athos was surprised when d'Artagnan arrived on the thirtieth, stamping her feet to ward off the chill and all wrapped up in dark wool and leather, with a cloche hat and colourful scarf to match. She had an eye for style, and was far more chic than version 1.1: _boy_ had been.

"Mum's gone back to work," she said as she hung up her outdoor things and sat at the kitchen table. "So I thought I'd come and pester my two dads."

"It's lovely to see you," said Athos. "We've been starved of company." He smiled up at Porthos, who was standing behind him and they linked fingers. It had been a magical time.

At this, d'Artagnan let out a sob of misery and collapsed into tears.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" said Athos, letting go of Porthos' hand and leaning over to draw the girl into a hug.

"You were right," cried d'Artagnan. "Everything you said was right. Aramis was just using me." She hid her face against Athos' shoulder, shaking now from the crying. "He took me out for dinner on Christmas Eve and he was so lovely."

Athos bit back an angry retort. Aramis was a player, a breaker of hearts, and all three of them knew it.

"I suppose he charmed me into bed," continued d'Artagnan. "I spent more time with him than I did with my mum over the holidays which is horrible, but I couldn't help it." She looked up at Athos. "I love him. I've always loved him. I wanted to believe that he loved me back."

Athos secretly doubted whether Aramis had the ability to love anyone.

"Up until yesterday things were going really well." D'Artagnan sobbed again. "And then Marsac turned up with a suitcase, letting himself into the flat with his own key and throwing himself at Aramis. I was just there to pass the time until he arrived. I'm so fucking stupid." She looked up at Athos, her face smudged with makeup. "Why didn't I listen to you?"

"You love him," said Porthos. "You gave him another chance and he screwed up. Now there's nothing else for it but to move on."

Athos vacated his seat and wandered over to the range to make coffee, leaving Porthos to be counselor. He was furious with Aramis for treating d'Artagnan so badly, too angry to think rationally and say what was needed.

"I know you're both right, but I don't know how to walk away from him," she said in a small and broken voice.

"You've done it before," said Athos, watching the steam escape from the valve on the coffee pot, hoping that it would vent some of his own pressure along with it. "You were happy enough working with us. You can be again. There'll always be a place for you at La Fère."

An arm crept around his waist and a head rested on his shoulder. "I know. Why do you think I came running back here with my tail between my legs?"

"Because you like my coffee?" said Athos as he poured the espresso into mugs and added water from the kettle.

"That and Porthos' cooking," said d'Artagnan and she was almost smiling.

Porthos guffawed suddenly. "Let me tell you about the Christmas dinner I made for his Lordship here, and you might change your mind."

D'Artagnan managed to laugh at the story, but her sadness was palpable and it wasn't long before she vanished upstairs to unpack.

Athos knew it was also a chance for her to have another good cry. "For such a nice man, Aramis really is a cunt of the highest order," he said once they were on their own.

Porthos looked up from his seat. " _Athos_ ," he said, grabbing hold as he was passing and pulling him onto his knee. "D'Artagnan isn't actually our kid. Don't get too worked up."

"She's decided that she's ours, so I can't help but feel responsible for her." Held like this, his arm tucked around Porthos, his face nestled into his neck, Athos was secure. "Don't worry. I won't go after Aramis with my father's rifle."

"You keep a gun here?" said Porthos.

Athos laughed. "There used to be a whole armory hidden in the vaults. I expect it's still there. The family had to be ready in case the English attacked unexpectedly."

"Can I see?" said Porthos with the excitement of a seven year old about to embark on an adventure.

"I doubt very much whether the key's anywhere to be found." Opening the dresser drawer, Athos was amazed to find it in the same place that it had always been kept. Slotting it into its recess, he turned the mechanism and pulled the huge piece of furniture back to reveal a hidden doorway. A few locks later they were inside the vaults.

The dust was acrid with age and caused him to sneeze several times in a row. "Could have done with a torch," he said as he peered into the gloom, the iron grills at ceiling level allowing them to see a little of what was in here.

Brushing aside the cobwebs, Porthos picked up an ancient sword and wielded it with relish. "I can't believe you have all this military history down here." He then noticed, at the far end of the chamber, a number of stone caskets. "Bloody hell! It's a bit spooky."

"This doubled as the family tomb," said Athos as he wandered over to the two most recent coffins that contained the bodies of his father and mother. "There was a car accident and both my parents were killed instantly. It happened not long after I left. Not long before I met you." He ran his hand over the raised cartouches, clearing the dust and revealing their names. "I should feel sad. I should feel _something_."

"Enough of that," said Porthos coming over and pressing up against his back, arms locking around his waist. "People have to earn that right and it sounds to me like they fucked up big time." He swept the hair away and kissed Athos on the neck. "You, my gorgeous man, are wonderful and deserve all the love in the world."

They kissed for the longest time, entombed here in the vaults and not giving a damn about the generations of skeletal comtes and comtesses stacked up next to them.

"Let's leave the militaria where it belongs," said Porthos finally. "I know what kind of sword games I'd rather be playing."

\---

To raise d'Artagnan's spirits, Porthos suggested a last minute New Year's Eve party and Athos agreed to the idea immediately. It would be fitting somehow. Let the house host a proper celebration rather one of those high brow, high roller parties that La Fère was renowned for in its past.

Phoning Constance proved to be the best decision ever. She was a born organiser and flew into action, inviting everyone in the local area and summoning up food from out of nowhere. Athos had little to do other than open up the wine cellar then hand over money and watch things happen. 

It was a fantastic distraction for d'Artagnan and lured her out of her fugue state as she dressed rooms whilst, at the same time, deciding how to dress herself to impress the guests.

"It's not only the girls who need to choose their outfit," said Porthos with a wink at Athos as afternoon headed towards evening and the sun slipped low in the sky. "Come upstairs and help me pick my party knickers."

Bathed and lounging on the bed, wearing just his dressing gown for warmth, Athos propped himself up on a mountain of pillows and watched the fashion show as Porthos modelled his ever increasing collection of lingerie.

"I like that one," said Athos as Porthos strutted in front of him wearing the scarlet basque.

"Nah." Porthos shook his head and examined himself in the mirror. "I'm going to wear my pinstripe suit and black shirt so I'd rather have something neater underneath it."

"As long as you wear suspenders," said Athos.

"Can't," said Porthos, shaking his head again. "They'll show too much under the trousers. Why is this so complicated?" He stared at his collection for a few minutes whilst Athos stared at his arse. "How about these ones?" he said finally, pointing to a hanger.

"Show me." 

As soon as Porthos emerged from the dressing area, Athos' cock sprang immediately into life. The corset was full and boned perfectly to shape his tits. A deep amethyst in colour, it worked well with his skin tone, and without ribbons or lace would sit neatly beneath his shirt. The matching knickers were simply shaped with a pouched section to house his cock and balls and the final beautiful touch was a pair of seamed, hold-up stockings that gripped his thighs without leaving any surplus ridge of flesh. He was, as always, a dream.

"You enjoying this?"

Porthos chuckled and Athos looked down to see that he was stroking his very approving erection, so absorbed in the show that he was entirely oblivious of doing it. 

He continued to pull at himself and raised an eyebrow. "I think the answer to that is obvious."

"Will you dress up for me tonight, babe?" said Porthos, kneeling on the bed and leaning forward to tongue Athos' cock. "Suit, shirt, corset, tie, no boxers. Wholesome on top and dirty as fuck under the surface."

Three quarters of Athos was determined to say no to this, but the remaining part was aroused beyond belief and baying to be louche again. Loose and wicked.

"Say yes," said Porthos as he peppered him with delicate closed mouth kisses, his beard a rough contrast to this gentle play. "Please."

"Yes," groaned Athos as Porthos took him fully into his mouth and sucked hard just once. It was almost enough for him to lose control. "Whatever you want."

They dressed each other with care, slipping on clothes and stroking every exposed area of skin. It was an incredibly sensual process and afterwards, as they lay together on the bed, stretched out and gazing in appreciation with just a foot of space to separate them, Athos was so keyed up that if Porthos had reached for him then he'd no longer have been able to resist.

"I long to fuck you," he said in a low voice. "To be fucked by you."

"I won't be able to take my eyes off you all night," said Porthos in a similarly hushed voice. "I love you. I need you."

"I know," smiled Athos. "I can't imagine how I'm going to get through this evening."

"With difficulty." Porthos grinned. "But it'll be fun trying though, eh?"

Athos nodded. "I predict good times ahead."

Those good times, however, appeared to be on hold for the moment when a sudden commotion had them both leaping off the bed and charging down the stairs to see what was the matter. It was barely six pm, far too early for party goers, and the scene that greeted them in the hallway had Athos on the point of running to the vault for a rifle.

"D'Artagnan, please, you misunderstood everything." Aramis was crouched in supplication at her feet, his arms snaking around her, his face pressed against her belly.

He was, in some ways, a pathetic sight. Scruffily dressed and with bags under his eyes, he was clearly under the influence of alcohol and seemed low and longing for absolution, but Athos wasn't moved by this in the slightest. No doubt things would be very different in the morning once the man had sobered up.

"Go away," said d'Artagnan. "Go back to London and your precious Marsac."

"You misunderstood everything," repeated Aramis.

"Could you please take your explanations into the study," said Constance as she bustled past them trying to ensure everything was ready for tonight. "The guests will be here soon." She then spoke quietly to Athos and Porthos. "Don't worry about the party. Go with those two. Don't let him trample all over her again."

Athos nodded and with Porthos at his side, he followed d'Artagnan and Aramis into the study.

"I'm not an idiot," said d'Artagnan blocking the way. "I know what I'm doing."

"Tough," said Porthos, his arms folded. "Either we stay, or you two can fuck off somewhere else. It's up to you."

Athos nodded in emphatic agreement. "This is our house." He glared at Aramis. "So like it or not, we're a part of this conversation."

"To be honest, I'm glad," said Aramis. "I've been a bastard and I can't thank you enough for being there for him."

"For _her_ ," said Porthos pointedly. "Now start talking."

Aramis wasn't drunk at all, Athos now realised. The man was exhausted and emotionally wrung out, but without doubt he was stone cold sober. His current state of mind had reminded Athos all too much of that miserable, alcoholic year he'd spent detached from Porthos and this, perhaps, was the reason for his confusion.

"D'Artagnan." Aramis stood up and began pacing the floor, a hand wrapped around the back of his neck. "When I said I wanted to spend time with you--only you--I wasn't lying. Christmas together was perfect, everything I'd dreamt it would be. I invited Marsac to visit long before you agreed to see me and that was only to tell him that it was over. He didn't reply and so I never gave him a second thought once you and I were together."

"That's all great," said d'Artagnan. " But I don't see how I can believe you."

"I don't lie," said Aramis earnestly. "I've never promised you anything before, you know that. Things are different now. My affair with Marsac is finished and Adele's agreed to run the shop for me indefinitely until I sort things out with you, because I'm not leaving here until I do. I love you, d'Artagnan. I want to be with you. I want to have the same kind of happy, sappy, revoltingly sweet relationship that these boys do. I want you to be my girl."

"But why this big change in attitude?" said d'Artagnan, far from being convinced.

"Because every moment that you weren't in my life was absolute agony." Drained from his confession, Aramis slumped against the wall. "I've never felt so alone, or so miserable."

Athos shifted a step closer to Porthos. Their absence from each other had never been a matter of physical distance, but it had caused the same kind of pain. If d'Artagnan took Aramis back Athos would find it hard to forgive the man--forgiveness didn't come easily to him--but he believed that Aramis was being honest about his feelings.

"What should I do?" said d'Artagnan, looking helplessly at Athos.

"Aramis, mate, you're coming with me," said Porthos, slinging an arm around the man's shoulder. "Let's leave these two in peace to have a father-daughter chat." He encouraged Aramis towards the hallway. "Believe me, your ears will be burning by the end of it."

Once the door had closed, Athos sank down onto the sofa and patted the seat next to him. The study held a lot of mixed memories for him. Most recently they were extraordinarily good ones, with he and Porthos spending hours in here making love, but in the past things had been very different. The only time he'd ever been invited into this room was to receive lectures from his father. His role was now reversed and he was the parental figure, though he would ensure that it was advice and support he offered rather than cold-hearted discipline.

"What do you _want_ to do?" he said, answering a question with a question as soon as d'Artagnan slumped next to him.

"I love Aramis," she said. "But I need to know that he means what he says."

"Before you fall into bed with him?" asked Athos.

"Maybe," she replied with a fleeting yet cheeky smile. "But I do need him to prove that he's ready for a relationship."

Athos sighed. "As I see it, you have three options. You can walk away. You can bide your time and see if he still wants you in a few months. Or, you can trust him."

He had no doubt that d'Artagnan, being the willful optimist she was, wouldn't be able to do anything _but_ allow Aramis back into her life. She loved freely and wholeheartedly and at least, in Aramis, she'd found a partner who could understand her complexities. 

"I want to trust him," she said warily.

"You want to trust him but you don't," said Athos. "So perhaps you should keep your hands off him for a while and let things progress slowly."

"And spoil my New Year." D'Artagnan laughed. "As if you could keep your hands off Porthos." 

"With what he's wearing under that suit?" Athos smirked. "Not a chance. I can barely contain myself, but the thing is we're not talking about me, sweetheart, we're talking about you." As they were about to leave the study he impulsively hugged d'Artagnan. "Porthos and Constance and I will always be here to protect you, but you have to promise me that you'll take care of yourself. You're a beautiful girl, and you're also strong and clever, so don't be a doormat for anyone, no matter how much you think you love them."

"I won't," said d'Artagnan, kissing him on the cheek. "Thanks, Dad."

Rather than baulking at this, as he usually did, Athos smiled. He was, by now, growing used to the role and was also feeling confident enough in d'Artagnan to let her explore this relationship for herself without interfering too much more. He'd said his piece and he hoped it would be enough.

They discovered the other two in the living room, hiding away from the chaos in the kitchen. Porthos had sensibly hit the wine cellar and was pouring out glasses of what looked like a very old claret. 

Taking one, Athos turned to address Aramis. "You two can talk privately in the study," he said. "Say everything that needs to be said, but bear in mind I own a small armory of weapons and I will shred you into tiny pieces if you treat d'Artagnan badly again."

"He ain't kidding," laughed Porthos. "I've seen them with my own eyes, so if I were you I'd be on my best behaviour at all times."

\---

With the party now in full swing, Athos looked around at the sea of faces, all of them familiar and none of them from the world of gentry or politics. Bertrand had actually closed the Tabac for a night and was here with his daughter Jeanne. Constance's parents were holding court in the living room, telling stories about La Fère in the old days. Remi, Therese, Fleur and countless others were here with their families, all from the village, honest and true people. 

It was a happy gathering and for a while Athos socialised, but then, having exceeded his introvert levels for the day, he wrapped up in an overcoat and scarf and wandered outside into the grounds to have a de-stressing cigarette and examine the outbuildings.

He and Porthos had big plans to convert them into storage and office space. If Lavish took off the way they expected it to then they would also use them as their mail order headquarters, possibly employing some of the locals who were now at the party. These were exciting times and there was a constant hum of anticipation at the back of his mind, needing things to happen sooner, quicker, now.

"Daydreaming about our new empire?" said a familiar gruff voice from behind his shoulder.

"I am actually," Athos replied. "If I'm not thinking about you then I'm thinking about what the business might offer us in the future."

"Means to an end," agreed Porthos. "Everything'll be dandy as long as we make sure that we're always more important to each other than work."

"Sounds good," said Athos. "We must write it into our contracts."

"I suppose we have to think of all that soon," sighed Porthos. "Making everything official."

"Let's leave it to the lawyers," said Athos, folding his scarf around Porthos' neck. "You're a mad thing coming out here in this temperature without a coat."

"I missed you," said Porthos. "I needed to find you. I don't feel right without you near me."

"I know. I feel the same." Athos pulled him into a hug and rubbed his back. "Let me warm you up."

"I've got a better idea," said Porthos with a dirty grin. "Let's fool around some."

As sober and frozen as he was, Athos would normally have gone for an outright no, but tucked away here in this ruin of a building, his gorgeous man all fired up ready, he lunged forward, kissing Porthos with an intensity that pushed them both off balance, until they were propped up by the stone wall behind them.

With feverish hands, Athos tweaked at shirt buttons, revealing that sleek purple corset. A swift tug at the top exposed a pair of tempting brown nipples and he leaned in, suckling lazily at each, turn and turn about, until Porthos' knees were trembling.

"Jesus," moaned Porthos as he fought with shirt and tie, desperate to seek out Athos' matt black underwear. "Let me have some of you."

Dropping to a squat, he unzipped Athos' flies, releasing his erection from the trousers and untucking his balls so that they too could hang free. "You are insanely sexy," he said, looking up through heavy lidded eyes, his lips barely an inch away from Athos' cock.

"I can feel you," murmured Athos. He was so attuned to Porthos that everything about him was arousing, the sound of him pissing full pelt in the mornings, the tug of fingers in his hair, the heat of his misted breath. Everything. For better or worse, though there would never be a worse. "Strip a little. Show me your cock," he said with a smile.

Standing opposite him, Porthos unfastened his pinstripe trousers, letting them fall to the ground and revealing himself in all his glory. Somehow like this, with dress pants pooled around his shoes, he was the most erotic sight that Athos had ever seen before and drinking him in, he used him as pornography, hand wet with precome as he stroked his erection. 

"Show me your arse," he demanded and Porthos turned obediently. "Now bend over and play with yourself. Tug your cock between your legs; give it a good hard pull." The whoops and cheers from inside the house indicated the beginning of a new year and Athos couldn't think of a better way to see it in. "Turn back around," he said. "Show me what you've got."

Standing feet apart, illuminated by the rays from the outdoor lighting, they brought themselves off to the sight of each other, coming to a long drawn out climax and then falling headlong into a kiss.

"I think we just had the first ever rom dom wank," said Porthos.

Athos huffed with laughter as he wiped them clean with a tissue and then made them both decent. "You must be freezing," he said, trying to fit two men inside one overcoat.

"Don't know. Don't care," said Porthos, giving him another kiss and then binding them together with Athos' scarf that had been discarded at some point during their moment of quiet exhibitionism. "Happy New Year."

"Bonne Année, my love," said Athos. "Let there be a hundred more."

"I'll go along with that," smiled Porthos. "Here's to being old and wrinkly and still fucking each other in outrageously naughty ways."


	17. Chapter 17

It was the middle of January and the hiatus from work was now well and truly over. Samples had arrived from Rees Manufacturing in Birmingham: spectacular garments made from good quality fabric which had been crafted to perfection. According to the correspondence, Bill had been able to keep to the agreed costs and hoped that they would be happy with the results.

Aramis, who was still at La Fère enjoying a honeymoon reunion with d'Artagnan, examined the undergarments with delight, testing their seams and holding them against his face to feel for softness. "I'd fill my entire shop with these. Give me Soho exclusivity please."

"No ridiculous profit margins," warned Athos. "The ethos behind this is important to us."

"I know." Aramis grinned. "Anyway with you setting up a mail order business I'd be killing off my own trade." He raised his coffee mug. "To Lavish."

After the ritual clinking of pottery, Athos was immediately on the phone to Bill, congratulating him on the samples and setting up their first ever order. He also sent over the new designs Porthos and Constance had been working on for Lavish, plus their new range of men's underwear, as opposed to lingerie, for which they were still deciding on a brand name.

"Laddish," suggested d'Artagnan with a giggle.

"Because it rhymes with radish?" Athos said dryly. They needed something strong, retro rather than old fashioned. "How about De Rigeur?" he suggested. "Or simply Rigeur."

"I like that very much indeed," said Constance with a slowly developing smile as she considered Athos' idea. "So our company will be Lafere with Lavish and Rigeur as our ranges." 

Athos was unsure. "It shouldn't be my name we use," he said. "It's your business."

"It's _our_ business and this is where it began," insisted Constance. "Oh go on, Athos."

"Think how much it would piss off your parents," said Porthos. "Not only will we be selling naughty knickers from their house, but we'll also be doing it under the banner of their precious name."

Enjoying being a badly behaved son for once, Athos agreed to it with a half smile and a squeeze of Porthos' hand.

With the lingerie now in full production, that hum of impatience within Athos had evolved into a full blown thrum of excitement. Both fully invested in this, he and Porthos spent the last of their savings having the outbuildings converted into work space that would include a design studio for Constance, offices, plus a warehouse and dispatch area.

Right now, Porthos was perched up high on the stone wall that surrounded the old stable block with Athos trapped between his legs as they watched the builders having their first of many coffee breaks.

"This is better than gites and yurts," said Athos with a smile. "I hate making beds and this way I get to do nothing but watch the money roll in."

"Money's all rolling the other way at the moment," said Porthos, ruffling Athos' hair. "And anyway haven't you got some important pictures to take today?"

They were intending to stick to the Venetian theme for the first official edition of their catalogue, although with the weather so spectacular at the moment Athos had persuaded his models to pose for him outdoors as well as in the ballroom. He had an image in his head and couldn't wait to see if it would work.

"I do indeed. Come on then, gorgeous," he said, turning a one eighty and resting his hands on Porthos' thighs. "Stop lazing around and let me photograph you in some man pants for a change."

"Really?" said Porthos. "God, I haven't worn boxers for ages."

Athos laughed up at him. "Think of them as severely cut french knickers and I'm sure you'll cope."

It didn't take long to set up the new shoot. The short wooden jetty that jutted out over the frozen pond was a perfect if precarious catwalk and the most amount of time was spent arguing over which underwear would be set off best by this sparkling winter world. All three models--Aramis was inevitably going to be a part of this--had a range of skin tones that would contrast beautifully with the environment and Athos wanted them in either white or black. Constance, however, preferred the idea of using rich jewel colours. No agreement was forthcoming and so it was eventually decided to photograph both.

A portable gas heater had been brought into the old boathouse, but it was still icy cold in here and not the most comfortable changing room in the world.

"I may as well be a woman," complained Porthos as he tucked his unusually reticent cock into some emerald knickers, cupping a hand over the front for the purposes of heat retention and fluffing.

"You look fantastic," said Athos, wrapping a warm quilted jacket around his shoulders.

"If I fall in the pond-"

"I'll save you," said Athos, standing on tiptoes and still unable to reach his target. "Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy you are when you're this tall?" He curled his hand around the back of Porthos' neck, drawing him closer until their mouths met.

Maybe it was the excitement of being semi-naked out here in the grounds, or perhaps a more basic need to warm up, but whatever the reason, when Constance walked into the boathouse she discovered two couples who'd forgotten all about work and were busy getting off with each other.

"It's a changing room not a bloody love shack," she grumbled. "Now shift those arses outside and get on with some photography."

"Damn," said Aramis with a grin. "I was enjoying the pornography."

The outside shoot went so well that it was impossible to decide whose idea worked best. At the halfway mark, Athos had been utterly convinced that bright colours were a perfect foil for the surroundings, but then it was the turn of his own monochrome vision which was equally startling within this crystalline landscape.

"This is going to be a difficult decision," said Constance. "We'll make up our minds when we see the ones from the interior of the house."

Having already photographed their original samples, it didn't take long to complete the set and soon they were ready to move on to the menswear. This time, however, Athos rebelled at the suggestion of modelling the clothes himself. The corset, suit and crop was a one off and he had no intention of showing his entire body to the world.

Unfortunately, because of this, Porthos was now sulking with him. "I don't see the problem," he said. "You did it before and we both loved it."

"Aramis is happy to model them and I'm not," said Athos, trying his best to kiss away that pout and failing to make contact when Porthos shifted back a step. "Can we please leave it at that?"

"Why can't you understand how bloody handsome you are?" said Porthos in a tight lipped aside.

"And why can't you understand how uncomfortable this makes me?" retorted Athos in a similarly tense voice.

"Are you talking about this particular shoot, or the whole lingerie thing?" said Porthos.

"Don't be so fucking obtuse," said Athos and with that he stalked off, bitter and confused, more angry than he had been in months.

Grabbing a half drunk bottle of wine from the sideboard, Athos charged up the stairs, opening an obscured door on the landing and heading up to the attic rooms, one of his childhood hiding places when everything had worn him down and he couldn't even cope with the friendliness of the housekeeping staff.

Taking a swig of wine, he then re-corked the bottle and put it down on the windowsill. There was no solution to be found in alcohol, or in running away. Sitting on an old mattress in the corner, he hugged his knees and wished fervently that he would learn to grow up. Both he and Porthos were guilty of behaving like childish idiots today, but Porthos would always mean everything to him and he needed to tell him so to his face, preferably right now.

Descending the staircase in sheepish fashion, he bumped into his man who was prowling the landing, looking just as worried and embarrassed as he searched the first floor for a missing boyfriend.

"I'm sorry," they said simultaneously and then clung on tightly to each other, repeating their apologies ad nauseum.

"Constance is shooting Aramis in the Rigeur stuff," said Porthos. "Although she'll be shooting him in the arse soon if he doesn't stop trying to climb into d'Artagnan's knickers every five minutes."

Athos tried to laugh but all that emerged was a strangled, unhappy sound.

"Let's go to bed, babe," said Porthos, kissing the top of his head. "We could both do with a proper cuddle."

Buried under the thick feather quilt, gears shifted back into place and Athos relaxed. "I would have done the photos if I could," he said in a small voice. "I'd do anything for you."

"I was being a knob," admitted Porthos. "For some reason I came over all insecure. I reckoned you thought less of me for posing in my panties."

"How could you ever think that?" said Athos, breathless with astonishment. He lifted Porthos' sweater and traced the line of his bra. "You know how much I love this. I'm stunned by you, constantly amazed that you're mine."

Porthos kissed him quiet. "I was only being pushy because you're the most gorgeous man ever and I wanted to show you off. But let's forget it, eh?" Sitting up, he took off his sweater and bra then wriggled out of the rest of his clothes until he was naked. "Maybe we're allowing this to get in the way of us," he said, chucking the knickers to one side then turning his attention to Athos and stripping him off. "I know you like me in my undies." He kissed Athos on the lips and then chuckled with laughter. "How could I not know that when you walk around with a permanent hard on, but let's not forget what's important." He stroked a hand down Athos' bare flank. "You and me, darling. That's all that matters."

With his heart once again aching from pressure, Athos moulded himself against Porthos' warm body, nuzzling into his armpits, licking kisses across his shoulders and up his neck. "I'm permanently hard for you," he said, his erection nudging against Porthos' hip and proving his case well. "Not just your underwear."

This was one of those slow, beautiful reconnections. No fervent mounting was needed to prove their love, the words were enough for that. This was a progression of kisses and gentle touches, a naked exploration of each other with Porthos taking Athos apart, piece by piece and then building him back up into something more solid.

"I love you," sighed Athos when he came, Porthos' hand to his cock, their mouths close and intimate. He kept his other emotions to himself. This was no time for tears, even healthy, reconstructive ones.

He watched carefully as Porthos pushed himself to climax: watched the beads of sweat forming and the way he bit his lip as he looked down at their joining, took in the play of those muscles from the build up of speed and force, but most of all he saw the expression of absolute love in those deep brown eyes when orgasm hit hard.

As much as Athos adored the lingerie, he had never been happier than this, curled around a naked Porthos as they enjoyed an après sex snuggle and some much needed alone time. "Do we have to go back to work?" he asked.

"Nah," said Porthos, kissing him on the forehead. "Fuck the clothing business. Let's stay in bed forever."

\---

Life would never be the same again, thought Athos and, for once, it had nothing to do with sex or Porthos. Rushed off their feet, twenty four seven, there was a mountain to climb to prepare for the launch, especially as each new day brought with it fresh disasters and unforeseen problems. D'Artagnan and Aramis were now back in London, holed up in their love nest above Bordello and the three remaining business partners at La Fère were run ragged.

With Porthos and Constance concentrating on packaging, working with a specialist team of marketing and design experts to get the end product looking exactly as they had imagined, it was left to Athos to deal with the business side of things. 

Getting a loan wasn't a problem, not with La Fère as collateral, but other aspects of this were more daunting. They needed to take on some staff, ready for when the work premises were completed, and Athos knew he would have to dig deep and find his inner steel in order to conduct interviews. Putting this off for as long as possible, he moved on to the next item on the agenda which was to visit the sex shops of Pigalle. This proved to be an equally awkward experience. Most clothing sellers in this quartier were heavily into kink--the kind of establishments that he had run away from in horror when he'd first started looking for lingerie--but having spoken to a host of managers and owners, he discovered that they too were simply businessmen, and more importantly, they were all excited as Aramis about stocking a full range of Lafere products. There would be no exclusivity deals here.

With Porthos too involved in design issues to get away, Athos spent a lonely weekend in Amsterdam, feeling like a sad pervert as he trawled the sex shops by himself, showing off his wares. It was worth it, his list of contacts was growing by the hour, but it was an utter relief to be homeward bound.

"You look wrecked, babe," said Porthos, paying for the taxi and carrying Athos' bags inside the house. "You should have stayed another night."

"I wanted to see you." Athos leaned into Porthos. It had been a nightmare of a journey, disruptions and delays at every stage, and rather than the normal couple of hours it had taken him almost ten. 

"This might cheer you up," said Porthos, shoving a catalogue into his hands. "Everything looks brilliant. It's so bloody posh."

With a design team working on the layout, the photographs looked incredible. Athos flicked through the pages, amazed at how professional everything was.

"The website's ready for launch," said Constance, shoving an iPad in his face. All we need now is a full warehouse and a team to staff it. How's that coming along?"

Athos blinked, too tired to even process what she was saying. Finally he worked it out. "I've made up a short list for interview," he said. "But Bill's asked for another meeting so I have to be in Birmingham by Wednesday, and from there I'm going up to Manchester to see if I can drum up some more business. Would you two be able to do the interviews?"

"I suppose so, if we must." Constance sighed and Athos felt guilty for loading more work onto her, but there simply weren't enough hours in the day.

Porthos tucked an arm around him and encouraged him towards the stairs. "Of course we can. Not a problem. You go and have a kip. You're asleep on your feet."

The launch, when it happened, was far more low key than anyone expected. The website went live, catalogues were dispatched and Athos had soon contacted everyone on his list to enquire about bulk orders. With Fleur and Jeanne taken on as staff, the warehouse was now stocked with lingerie, all of it in beautifully designed packaging.

Not that anyone had been anticipating a huge rush, but it took a day and a half for their first online order to come through. This was welcomed with great excitement, however, at this rate it was going to take a long time to achieve their first million.

"Maybe gites and yurts would have been a better proposition," said Athos gloomily at the end of their first week.

"You hate changing sheets, remember?" grinned Porthos. "Talking of that, how about we take a timeout and go mess ours up a little."

Athos complied willingly, holding Porthos' hand as they snuck off to their bedroom for a nooner. At the back of his mind was the worry that he'd be too anxious for sex--money troubles were weighing heavily on him right now--but the sight of Porthos dressed head to toe in tartan, complete with stockings and those red patent thigh high boots was enough to supercede any thoughts of cash flow.

Bending Porthos over the bed, he knelt and licked into him from behind, tonguing him open and fondling his satin covered cock. 

"Fuck me," begged Porthos, pushing back against him and Athos stood, hooking his erection out of his chinos and lubing up ready. 

What followed was a porn themed knee trembler, Porthos on all fours beneath the canopies of that four poster bed with Athos, fully dressed and slamming into him, one hand scrunching the material of that miniskirt whilst the other stroked his bottom. 

"Yes," cried Porthos as Athos reached around and began a steady wank. "God that's so good."

Honed to the sights and sounds of Porthos' climb to orgasm, Athos sensed every internal fluttering, felt the muscular clench and then the twitch of his cock as it swelled to its hardest. Pounding into him, the solid wood uprights of the bed creaking under the pressure, he let fly, feeling Porthos spurt hot in his hand and joining him in climax just as the bloody door opened and two not so innocent faces peered in.

"Hardly the most successful way to run a business," laughed Aramis. "But it does look like fun."

D'Artagnan sniggered. "We came up to surprise you."

"And you succeeded," panted Athos, running his hand up and down Porthos' back. "Now go away so we can get sorted."

"You look pretty sorted to me, daddy," laughed d'Artagnan.

"Enough!" warned Athos. "Remember I have an armory of weapons in my possession, so sod off and leave us alone."

"And I thought fucking was supposed to put you in a good mood," said d'Artagnan as she and Aramis left the room.

"Crikey! She's even more of a monster now she's happy," chuckled Porthos as he stripped out of his knicker set, throwing them into the washing basket and then heading for the bathroom. 

Athos loved to watch him lope around, balanced and graceful, perfectly at ease in his skin. "You know what," he called. "I wasn't lying; I do fancy you just as much when you're naked."

The rest of the day turned into a party, more about being all together again than a celebration, but it was nice to relax for once and as they sat around the table eating pizza and laughing, Athos took a mental step back and assessed the changes in his life. Even if this wasn't turning out to be the instant success that they'd hoped for, life was so much better than it had been before.

Idly, he brought up the website to check hit numbers and orders, then noticed that the review page, which had stood at a big fat zero since its inception, looked different to usual.

Nervous beyond belief, he read the first comment: _Bought a corset from this new online company. Was expecting cheap and nasty but received a good quality item, well designed, well constructed and wonderful fit. Will be buying more from Lafere. 10/10 - a happy lingerie fan._

There were more all in the same vein and multiple languages: _I purchased several briefs and bras from the Lavish range in Soho and can't believe the quality and price. Thank you._

_Couldn't be happier with the lingerie._

_Sizing and quality is perfect. Would recommend to anyone._

_I bought one of your corsets for my husband who is delighted with it. Thank you for catering for the larger man._

The comments continued to increase, as did the orders. The lag factor was over and their trickle of business was turning into a merry little stream.

"Look," he said in a hushed voice, passing the iPad to Porthos. "Read these"

"I'm eating," said Porthos through a mouthful of pizza. 

Frowning at him, Athos then passed the tablet to Constance who also brushed him off, too distracted by her boyfriend François, the new doctor in town, to be interested in anything but love.

"Honestly, does no one give a damn about this company?" snapped Athos, slamming the tablet on the table and refilling his wine glass. 

"What are you blathering about, Athos?" said Porthos, taking the iPad from him as if he were humouring a grumpy child. All of a sudden his attitude changed. "Jesus H Christ and also what the fuck?" he yelped. "Our customers like us. They bloody well love us." He grabbed Athos' face in both hands and kissed him hard, again and again. "How do you fancy buying a yacht, baby?"

"Steady on," said Athos, but he was smiling against Porthos' mouth, smug with vindication.

As the tablet was passed around the table, the excitement levels in the room increased wildly. More of that vintage champagne was opened and they celebrated into the night, after which three couples fell happily into their beds, high on bubbles and the promise of entrepreneurial success.

\---

Athos had long been of the opinion that life was out of control, but it had never before reached this level of mayhem. Order after order was received, both from customers and retailers, and he was even beginning to believe that his over leveraging may not have been the huge mistake he'd once thought. He wished however that he'd had the common sense to look into trading as a limited company, or at least getting business grants before putting his entire estate on the line.

"We've got a problem," said Jeanne, charging into the design studio where the three of them were going through some ideas for a new Libertine range of underwear. "Practically everything's out of stock."

"I thought you were going to talk to Bill," said Porthos, looking at Athos.

"I did." Athos paced the floor. "He said he'd try his best to ship more out to us but he's working at full capacity." If the demand increased any further then they'd be in trouble. "I need to go over there and talk to him in person to find out what the problem is. We may have to look at getting other manufacturers on board."

"But that would be such a shame," said Constance. "The quality from Rees is perfect."

"Yes, but if they can't supply us with the amount of stock we need then I don't see that we have a choice." Athos picked up the telephone. "I'll talk to him and arrange a meeting for tomorrow."

"If you can leave it until next week then I'll come with you," said Porthos, wrapping his arms around Athos' waist and resting his chin on a shoulder. "We can have a mini break in Brum."

"That sounds wonderful," said Athos, turning to smile at him. "I wish it were possible, but I don't see that we have much time left to play with. Customers won't wait forever for us to restock. We'll get this issue sorted and then go away for a proper holiday. How about that?"

"Great," said Porthos. "But, believe me, I won't be packing any lace panties."

"Oh yes, you damn well will," said Athos. "I particularly like the idea of this." He pointed to Constance's drawing of an old fashioned and saucy knicker set that he was imagining Porthos wearing right now. "Stop being distracting and let me make this phone call."

After a night of utter debauchery that involved corsets, vibrators and a riding crop, Athos was now yawning in the hallway, packed and waiting for the taxi to take him to Charles de Gaulle. 

"I shouldn't have kept you up so late," said Porthos, leaning into his side.

"Yes, you should," insisted Athos with a smirk. "That's one night I shall never forget."

"I'll be looking at the photos of it later when I'm alone in bed and missing you." Porthos rested his forehead against Athos'. "You go away too much. Stop working so hard."

"I'll be home soon," promised Athos. "I'll call you on the landline once I'm booked in to a hotel."

They kissed for the longest time, only breaking apart when the taxi driver beeped his horn. "I must go or I'll miss my plane," said Athos, squeezing Porthos' hands. "I love you."

"I love you more," replied Porthos and then he grinned. "I'm missing you already."

For once, Athos' journey was completed smoothly and without delays. Landing at Birmingham airport meant he had less travelling to do, and having gone through the list of figures several times whilst he was on the plane, he had the bottom line needs of the company fixed firmly in his mind.

Rees Manufacturing was a hive of industry, the shop floor containing double the amount of machinists than when Athos had last been here. 

"Seems you were right, lad," said Bill, taking him into his office and pouring two coffees from the machine. "Naughty knickers for men are more popular than I ever imagined."

"More popular than we did too," admitted Athos and he leant forward in his seat to talk earnestly to the older man. "We have a problem, Bill." He opened up documents on his phone to show the list of bulk orders from retailers then realised that Bill was struggling to make sense of them in this small format.

His Macbook was an ever present tool at his side and he powered it up to show off the spreadsheets in a more legible form. "We need you to supply us with more," he said. "And quickly."

Bill sat back in his chair. "I _can_ do it," he said.

Athos heaved a sigh of relief, but then received a cautionary look in return. 

"Although I'm not sure that I will," the factory owner continued. "Now don't get me wrong, Athos, my machinists love making your designs and I understand now that the market is relatively untapped and far less of a niche than I'd expected. As far as the long term goes, we're fine. I'm already planning on expanding into some empty premises next door. But there's a problem with the short term."

"You said you could do it," said Athos, his chest tightening in panic.

"I can, but it would mean reneging on my main contract and that's not how I like to do business," said Bill. "Leave it with me. I'll have a word with the other company, but in the meantime I won't be offended if you have meetings with different manufacturers. It's the only thing to do."

For a moment Athos came close to throwing himself at the man's feet and begging him for mercy. He liked Bill Rees, more to the point he trusted him, but the reason he trusted him so much was because of his honest nature. "I understand," he said. "I suppose I'll have to try that."

Bill scribbled down the names of a few manufacturers. "It's not often I hand out work to our rivals, but these three factories produce quality goods. Chat to them first."

"I will," said Athos. "And thank you. If you _can_ come up with a short term solution that would work for us both then I'd be very grateful."

"I'll do my best," said Bill, standing up to shake his hand. "Don't panic, Athos. It'll be fine. Life is all about ups and downs."

On his way to the bus stop, Athos tried hard to have faith in Bill's final words, but his head was full of the commitments he'd made to their retailers, not to mention their staff. Setting up a business was expensive and they were already up to their eyeballs in debt. If things came to a standstill then they would inevitably go under and lose the house as well as the company, mostly because of his own naïvety and lack of business acumen. He was about to try and call the manufacturers on Bill's list when he realised that he'd picked up his laptop but left his phone on the desk at the factory.

Acting on instinct, he raced back across the busy road, not looking where he was going. He turned, at the frantic beep of a horn, to see a taxi just feet away from him, braking hard, and after that everything happened in slow motion. There were screams from the pavement as he impacted with the bonnet of the car, his head crashing into the bodywork. He was thrown onto the road like a rag doll and from then onwards there was nothing but agonising pain as he was surrounded by a ceiling of petrified faces. It was not long after this that he lost consciousness.


	18. Chapter 18

"Hello, can you hear me, love?"

Athos looked up at an unfamiliar person looming over him. He was lying down and yet there was a definite sense of motion. "Where am I?" he asked. "Where's Porthos?"

"You're in an ambulance. My name's Jane and I'm one of the paramedics who'll be looking after you. You were involved in a road traffic accident. Do you remember what happened?"

Athos tried really hard, but everything was muzzy. "Where's Porthos?" he asked again and he tried to move his head, but it was lodged into one position. "I need to see Porthos."

"Keep as still as you can," said the paramedic. "You'll be in hospital soon. What's your name?"

It was on the tip of his tongue. Oliver? Ath something? Arthur? "Where's Porthos? I need Porthos," he begged. "I'm scared."

"Everything's fine, my love. You just keep calm. Who's Porthos?"

"My?" For a moment Athos couldn't remember, but then he pictured him, big, tall and beautiful. "He's my partner. Where is he? I need him."

"And where do you and Porthos live?"

"London, I think. Do I? Oh shit, this hurts so much. Please make it stop."

"I can't understand you, Olivier. Are you speaking French? What did you say?"

Athos wasn't certain, but he thought they may have given him painkillers. Everything became woozy and then black.

\---

"You must be Porthos." 

Athos could hear a faraway voice, and whilst it was familiar to him, he wasn't quite certain to whom it belonged.

"I'm sorry about this, lad," the man continued. "I knew he was distracted when he left the factory, but I had no idea this might happen."

"No one could know, Bill. It's not your fault."

Athos heard that wonderful rumble and wanted to open his eyes, but for some reason he couldn't manage to do so. _Porthos_ , he tried to say and then attempted to reach for his hand, but neither one of those things happened.

"What's wrong with him?" said Porthos and he sounded so frightened. "Why won't he wake up?"

"He's suffering from a moderate trauma injury to the brain, said a new voice. "He was assessed, on admission, at a Glasgow Coma Score of eight, which is reasonable and he's regained consciousness intermittently, although not for a while. There's no sign of skull fracture. The MRI shows contusion but no haemorrhage or haematoma, therefore there's no need for surgery. His ankle is sprained and he has fractured ribs, but other than that it's a case of minor cuts and bruises. He's a lucky man."

"He's still unconscious," said Porthos. "How is that lucky?"

"Porthos, please try and calm down. I know it’s difficult.” There was a sob. “But they're doing the best they can for him."

It sounded like d'Artagnan. Was everyone here? Athos thought he remembered names and faces, but then it became too complicated and he was back at school awards day, desperately hoping to win something to impress his parents. Love me, please, he thought. But he _had_ someone who loved him now. What was his name again?

"We'll be airlifting him to Paris as soon as he's stable," said the doctor.

"You said he was already stable," said a gruff voice.

"He has a serious injury, Mr du Vallon. Give him time to recover. The brain is a remarkable organ."

\---

"Athos, you have to come back to me, baby. I can't do this without you. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me. Please, darling. That's it. I felt that. Try a bit harder. You've got to open your eyes soon. I'm beginning to forget what shade they are. Aramis thinks they're blue, so he's either colour blind or thick. I need you to prove what a pretty colour of green they are, because he doesn't believe me.”

*

“I've run out of fucking tissues again. I thought we had a deal about no more tears. Trust you to make me break it. I'm never letting you cross a road on your own again, by the way. You'll be holding my hand every time from now on.”

* 

“This one way conversation is hard. Are you even listening to me? Squeeze my hand again if you are. Try harder for me, gorgeous. I need you. I love you and I know you love me. We'll be okay.”

*

“You know, I was thinking about your birthday, the other day, before this all happened. Wondering how we should celebrate this year. Remember The Ritzy where they gave us that massive cocktail to share with the sparklers in it, like we were in Magaluf? We were so pissed after that, we could hardly walk. We nearly got arrested for indecency in the Tube station. This year will be even better than that, I promise you.”

*

“Bloody hell, Athos. Wake up.”

*

“Please, baby, wake up."

\---

Life was a blur of pain and confusion. Athos remembered the helicopter ride, at least he thought he did. Or perhaps it was people talking about it. Opening his eyes was still difficult and everything was too bright. 

"I hurt," he gasped, holding someone's hand very tightly.

"Of course you do," she replied in a matter of fact manner. "You were run over by a car. My name is Anne. I'm a physiotherapist and it'll be my job to get you back on your feet." She smiled at him, her dark hair tucked up into a ponytail, her green eyes sparking with fire. "Now try sitting up."

"I can't," he said. "Fuck off."

"Okay then. I'll leave you to piss yourself and waste away in this dull hospital bed," she said and then stood back, staring defiantly at him.

"Do that," he retorted and turned away from her.

It came as a surprise when he heard her footsteps clip away, diminishing to nothing as she left the hospital ward. She clearly wasn't a woman to be messed with, but he didn't care. Why should he care?

Instead of sitting up, he slept for a while and then lay motionless on his back, looking up at the ceiling lights.

"Athos, thank god. You're properly awake at last." 

Athos blinked and stared at the man who was looking down at him, clutching his hand. The voice was Porthos, but the face, the face was unfamiliar to him. Handsome and smiling, but not someone he knew.

"I've been so scared, baby. I thought I'd lost you."

The man--it _must_ be Porthos--was bent over him, kissing his forehead.

"Talk to me, Athos, please."

"I don't understand what's happened. Why am I here? Where am I?"

The man looked more worried than ever. "Not so much of the French, Athos. English would be better."

Athos didn't understand. He thought he _was_ speaking in English. He turned away and stared at the white hospital wall.

"Don't shut me out. French is fine, babe. I'll muddle along. Constance will help translate for me if I get stuck."

"Come on, you big dope, stop sulking," said another voice. "I’ll tell you what happened. You were being a prat and jumped out in front of a taxi when you were in Birmingham, but you'll soon be up and about."

Athos looked around tentatively. He didn't recognise the girl either. He didn't know anything. People. English. French. All of it was a confusion to him.

\---

"Don't you want to get better for that lovely boyfriend of yours?" asked the green eyed harridan. 

In his head, Athos called her Nurse Ratched, although she'd told him that she was a fizz- No. Once again a word eluded him.

"Porthos hates coming to the hospital," she continued. "Did you know that? It reminds him too much of the children's homes he lived in when he was young. But he's here every day for you and the least you can do is try and get well enough so that he can take you home."

"I don't know where home is," replied Athos sullenly. He remembered a flat in London, but everyone who visited talked of somewhere else. A big house.

"You will when you see it," said Nurse Ratched. "Get in the wheelchair. I'm taking you down to the physio room so we can work on improving your balance."

"Could you pass him onto me once you've finished with him, Anne," called another woman from across the ward. "If there's anything left, that is."

This one smiled at Athos rather than glowered at him. She was dainty and sweet natured and most of the time he liked her, except when she was bombarding him with pointless questions. They were both called Anne, but were chalk and cheese in looks and in temperament, playing endless rounds of good cop bad cop with their unwilling patient. Kind Anne cajoled him into making cups of tea and taught him the life skills that had gone missing, whereas the other one bullied him into standing, walking, sitting. Soon she'd have him trying to juggle and ride a unicycle at the same time.

"Come on," said Nurse Ratched, watching like a hawk and guarding him protectively as he stood up and made his way to the chair. "Good boy."

"I'm not a boy," he snapped. "I don't know who or what I am, but I'm not a fucking boy."

"Fighting spirit is good," she said breezily as she wheeled him along the corridor to the lifts. "Fight harder and we'll soon have you fit again."

Athos fell into a prolonged spell of silence at this, doing his exercises and trying to relearn movements he'd somehow forgotten. What was the use of being fit if he didn't understand the world he was supposed to fit into?

The other Anne noticed immediately how quiet he was being as soon as he was delivered to the OT room. What was OT? he wondered.

"Are you feeling okay, Athos?" she asked as she drilled him on a series of everyday things that any normal man should know.

"Not really," he answered honestly. "I'm a bit lost today."

"When I ask you a question in French, try and answer it in French," she said gently. "Listen to the words I use."

She showed him a flip book full of pictures: a dog, un chat, une maison, a train, a lot of them he didn't recall. He made a bowl of cereal and spilled the milk, and as he cleaned his teeth, forgetting the first time to use toothpaste, he wondered what he did for living and hoped it wasn't something in the service industry.

"I think that's enough for today. You really do look exhausted," she said. "Get in the chair and I'll take you back up to the ward for lunch. It'll be visiting time soon."

Athos dreaded the afternoon visits more than anything. He waited helplessly as the two Annes discussed his case outside the door. 

"I'm going to recommend he be discharged as soon as possible," said Nurse Ratched. "There's plenty of support for him at home and I think it'll do him good being back in a familiar environment. What do you think?"

"I agree," said Anne. "I'll make the same recommendation at the meeting tomorrow. He's doing well."

As Athos was wheeled back up to the ward, panic began to set in. He remembered that same feeling from just before the accident and for the first time since it had happened, he pictured the black taxi cab crashing into him. It was horrendous. Immediately he shut down before the memory could damage him further. 

Like a robot, he ate the dinner placed in front of him and then used his crutches to walk the few steps to the bathroom. There was an ordered set of instructions in his head for everything: a bulleted list that allowed him to function. Looking in the mirror, he tidied his hair as best he could and stared at the ominous reflection. He knew logically that it belonged to him, but why did he recognise nothing from the past? He could tell Nurse Ratched and Anne apart so why not his own face? Why not his friends, his boyfriend?

That car was coming again, smashing into him as he was thrown from the bonnet. He could smell oranges, taste the sickly sweetness of ice cream and his fingers began to tingle. Frightened, he limped back to bed.

Soon afterwards, a steady stream of visitors made their way into the ward. Porthos--at least he thought it was Porthos--was one of the first to arrive, accompanied by the bossy girl and a couple who were hand in hand with each other, a pretty face and a man with a neatly trimmed beard and waxed moustache. They were all smiling inanely.

"Porthos," he said. It was the only name he knew and he wasn't entirely sure that was right until the big man beamed with delight and kissed him on the lips.

"Hello, my gorgeous one. How are you feeling today?"

Athos thought about the question for a while. Wrong, would be the correct answer but that would worry his visitors. "Tired," he said eventually. "I had to do examinations." He shook his head because that was a mistake. "Exercises, I mean, with Nurse Ratched."

Porthos laughed loud and long. "The hellcat with the green eyes? I call her Milady." He turned to the other three. "She's the physiotherapist I was telling you about."

"Is she mean to you?" said the pretty girl who was still holding hands with her boyfriend.

Athos looked at them all. He _did_ know them. He was sure he did, but the car was coming again and all he could remember was the pain. They said the taxi had partially run over his ankle. The doctors told him he was lucky it had stopped in time before doing any serious internal damage. He didn't feel lucky in the slightest.

"She's a bully," he said and everyone laughed. "But she's had enough of me and says I can come home soon."

What would they think of this plan? There were mixed expressions on the faces surrounding him, but then Porthos answered him in French.

"That's wonderful news, baby. And you're doing a real good job of making sure I'm bilingual." 

He leaned in for a gentle hug and Athos discovered that it was nice to be held.

"I'll get everything ready for you," said Constance. "Would a room on the ground floor be better?"

Athos still didn't know where he lived. "Everything as it was, please." He tried then to explain how important this was, but the car was coming for him again and the smell of oranges was so strong it was choking.

Forced back on the bed by some invisible opponent, he was shaken like the rag doll he had been in the accident. He understood nothing of what was happening to him, but could see from the look of horror on Porthos' face as Constance shouted for help that whatever it was must be bad.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not well, but will reply to comments as soon as I can. <3

"You had a minor seizure," said his consultant, M Richelieu, a fierce looking, middle aged man whose bedside manner was definitely lacking. "It's quite common after brain trauma. We'll make sure that you're stabilised on medication once again and then I see no reason why you can't still go home as planned."

Without waiting for an answer, the consultant moved on to his next patient and Athos let out a deep and involuntary sigh. What a treat it would be for everyone, running around after him in this big country house, he supposedly owned, cleaning up after he pissed himself every five minutes then helping him into the bath.

"You'll be fine," said Nurse Ratched. "You'll be fussed over so much that you'll look forward to coming to see me for our appointments."

"I don't want to go home," he said in a sudden fit of angst. "I can't do it." He'd only been in hospital a few weeks and yet it seemed he was already institutionalised. "I want to stay here with you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Athos," she said, but she was smiling for once and showing the gap in her teeth.

"I want to stay," he insisted. "I'm not letting them take me."

She laughed again as the nurse packed the contents of his locker into a holdall. "You'll live without me," she said. "I promise it'll be easier than you think."

\---

Athos sat in his wheelchair, waiting in silence for the blade of the guillotine to descend and amputate everything that was familiar to him. When his unwelcome rescue party arrived, the staff nurse handed Porthos a paper bag of medication and a card full of hospital appointments, explaining to him in detail about danger signs to watch out for and what to do in the event of another seizure.

"They should tell you as well as Porthos," said the girl who was standing by his wheelchair.

"I wouldn't understand their instructions," said Athos. He was all too aware of his limitations. Who are you?" he asked, looking up at her.

Her face fell. "I'm d'Artagnan. You looked after me, and now Aramis and I are going to help look after you."

"Who's Aramis?" said Athos.

"I am, chéri." The handsome man with the cavalier moustache stepped forward. "And the lovely lady standing beside Porthos is Constance."

Athos was certain he'd been told this a dozen times already, but his memory was shattered into pieces and what little that remained intact was vague to the point of useless. "I'm sorry," he said, feeling low and bewildered.

"Don't worry," said d'Artagnan. "You'll get better."

But what if he didn't, wondered Athos. What if this version of him was the finished product?

Paperwork and other administration matters now sorted, Porthos wheeled him down to the main entrance and, side by side, they waited for the others to bring the car around.

"I'm sorry the discharge took so long," said Porthos and he sounded stressed to breaking point. "It was a bit of a palaver because, according to the hospital, I'm not officially your next of kin. Why the hell not, I have no idea." He sighed. "I hope it isn't too overwhelming for you with everyone here. They wanted to come along and help."

"I'm fine," replied Athos, feeling anything but.

"I wish we could have the house to ourselves again," said Porthos wistfully, his hand squeezing Athos' shoulder. "The way we did at Christmas. That was magic." His expression fell flat when he realised that Athos had no memory of this special time. "I'll tell you everything about our lives once we get home," he said. "We've had an adventure."

"What do I do for a living?" asked Athos. He'd been wondering for a while now.

"Other than love me?" Porthos squeezed harder, hard enough to hurt a little. "This might sound a little bit weird, I suppose.” He faltered. “You and I own a company with Constance," he explained. "We sell lingerie for men. Constance and I design the clothes and you're the photographer. You also look after the business side of things."

Athos scratched his head. He saw himself in a suit, going off to work everyday on the Underground. "You're not joking with me, are you?" he asked.

Porthos frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know," said Athos listlessly. "Nothing seems real."

"It'll come back to you when you see La Fère," insisted Porthos. "We live there and we work there. It's a big part of our lives now."

The car pulled up, putting an end to the awkward conversation and Athos let himself be maneuvered into the front seat, with Porthos taking over the driving and the other three wedged in the back.

"My chair!" said Athos as soon as they pulled away and he realised that they'd left it back at the main entrance.

"No wheelchairs from now on," said Constance firmly. "You're to be up and about everyday on your crutches."

"Hopefully soon without them," said Porthos. "Your balance is getting a lot better. It's like me in heels. Took a while but I got the hang of it eventually.

Athos didn't understand this cryptic comment and so, rather than respond to it, he looked out of the window at the spring countryside. France was beautiful, but did he belong here? He wasn't at all sure.

Driving up to La Fère was not the enlightening homecoming he'd hoped it would be. Instead of a sense of comfort, he was filled with anxiety. "This doesn't feel right," he muttered.

Porthos pulled up to the front of the house and reached for Athos' hand. "It's complicated," he said, waiting for everyone to get out and leave them alone to talk. "This was your home when you were a kid and it wasn't a particularly happy one. Your mum and dad died a few years ago and you inherited the house, so we decided to jack in work and come over here to start a new life." He leaned in to kiss Athos softly on the mouth. "It's been brilliant. The best time ever."

"How long have I known you?"

"We've been together almost six years." Porthos grinned. "The longest one night stand of our lives. I'll tell you about that too."

Athos was bone weary. He could see how much Porthos loved him, but he was struggling to believe that he could ever make anyone happy, as incomplete and broken as he now was. "I'm tired. Can I go to bed?"

"Of course you can, baby. Hang on a sec and I'll get your crutches from the boot." 

There wasn't anything Porthos wouldn't do for him and Athos felt rotten to discover that all he wanted was to be alone.

"I'll help you up to the landing," said Porthos, "And then you can walk the rest of the way to our room under your own steam."

 _Our room_. This wasn't something Athos had ever considered.

The other three had made themselves scarce, allowing him time to adjust. Once inside, he looked around the massive hallway for clues. "The kitchen's in there," he said, pointing at a door. It was the one thing in his life of which he was certain. 

"You're right," said Porthos. "See, it's coming back to you. You'll soon be back to your old self." With an arm looped carefully around Athos' waist, he helped him up the stairs, carrying the crutches in his free hand. "You're on your own from here."

Athos made his way down the passageway with Porthos hovering close by, watching every step he took. It was exhausting, a relief to arrive in the bedroom, and he sank down onto the soft mattress, his head in his hands.

"Can I help you into your pyjamas?" asked Porthos. "I’ve got those Christmas ones ready. I thought maybe-" He fell silent.

Athos touched the soft brushed cotton on the bed. "You thought I'd remember something," he said, wishing fervently that he had done, for both their sakes.

"I hoped," admitted Porthos. "You will though. The doctor says the amnesia's only temporary." 

Likely to be temporary is what they'd actually said.

Porthos knelt and unlaced Athos' trainers, helping him out of his jeans and then into the pyjama trousers. There were scars on his legs that he had never noticed before. "Are these from the accident?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Porthos, sitting on the bed and sorting out the top half of his clothes. He stroked a finger across the rough stripes of healed scar tissue across his ribs. "When Bill called to tell me what had happened, I misunderstood him at first. I thought you were dead." Slipping Athos' arms into the sleeves, he then buttoned up the jacket. "I wanted to die too. I honestly thought I was having a heart attack. When I found out you were alive it was the happiest moment of my life." He kissed Athos softly on the mouth. "I don't care about anything except that I still have you here, safe, where I can hold you. That's all I need. Just that. No pressure."

"Thank you," said Athos, leaning into him, gaining comfort from the closeness. Maybe they would be okay after all.

Porthos helped him under the covers. "Have a snooze and I'll bring you something to eat in a couple of hours." He seemed loathe to leave the room. "It's so good to have you back, babe," he added. "I'll leave the door open. Shout if you need me."

"I will," replied Athos, longing to be left in peace. The hospital had been an endless succession of noise, from six in the morning until last thing at night. Alone at last, he curled up in the huge bed, a stranger in a strange land.

He had no idea what time, or even what day it was when he opened his eyes next. His bladder was calling to him urgently and he struggled to get up, hunting anxiously for the crutches, only to discover that he was no longer by himself.

Porthos was hunched over in a chair by the window, working on his laptop. "What's the matter,” he asked, looking up. “Need a wee?"

Athos nodded and had no choice but to let Porthos help him down the corridor to the bathroom. "I can manage from here," he said as they reached the doorway.

"I've seen it all before," grinned Porthos.

It was a significant detail that constantly eluded Athos. He understood that Porthos was his partner, but had no memory of any intimacy between them, which was disturbing. He was a one way mirror.

"I know," he said. "But-"

"I'll wait here."

After seeing him safely back to bed, Porthos went to fetch their supper. Or was it lunch? Athos was muddled.

"Bill said you were getting yourself in a right state at the meeting," said Porthos as he sat on the bed, helping Athos spoon lasagne into his mouth.

It was a humiliating experience and Athos longed for the familiar environment of the hospital, as well as the comforting brusqueness of Nurse Ratched. She'd only ever known him as a disabled patient. She had no expectations.

"Are you listening?" asked Porthos. 

Athos nodded and swallowed down his food. "I was worried," he said, forcing his brain to reconnect to that time. The memory had returned once before and he knew it must be locked away somewhere in his mind. "I knew we were in trouble finan-" The word had gone missing. "With money."

"Bill's a good man," said Porthos. "I can see why you like doing business with him. His other customer was happy to pull out of the contract and have their stuff made in China rather than Britain. Apparently, old ladies are less fussy about the quality of their nightclothes. Anyhow, we now have the supply problem sorted and once Rees expands into the neighbouring premises they can begin work on our new designs."

Athos tried to listen and comprehend, but multitasking was hard for him and it was enough of an effort just to get the food into his mouth without slopping it all over the quilt cover.

"So, to put it simply, everything's okay," concluded Porthos, polishing off his own plateful. "Panic over. Time for your meds."

Limp and lifeless, Athos let Porthos look after him, helping him with the pills and the glass of water, then fussing around afterwards, tidying an already tidy room. A shock-wave of fear hit him later as he watched Porthos get ready for bed, big and proud and strong. When he covered his naked body with brightly coloured pyjamas, Athos had a feeling that this was solely for his benefit.

The light went out and an arm draped over him, pulling him into a cuddle. After a few seconds of tolerating it, he had no choice but to inch away from the pressure. "My ribs still ache," he lied as he wriggled towards the edge of the bed and let the painkillers lull him to sleep.

He awoke with a start to a rhythmic thumping. The movement stopped and at first he was unsure of what it was, but then he remembered.

"I'm sorry," said Porthos in a low voice. "I couldn't sleep. I thought you were out for the count."

Was he supposed to do something, wondered Athos. He doubted he could manage much more than to lie there with his legs spread. The meds had taken it out of him--life had taken it out of him--and he found himself embarrassed and on the verge of running.

"Maybe I should sleep somewhere else, just for the time being," said Porthos. His voice was tight with misery. "There's a bed made up in the next room. You can call if you need me. Would you prefer that?"

Athos blinked. Was he supposed to agree or disagree? This was hopeless. "I think, yes," he said finally, the idea of being on his own too much of a relief to turn down.

"Right," said Porthos. "Okay then. I'll just um-" Slowly, he got out of bed. "I'll move my things out of here tomorrow. Sorry, Athos. I should have thought of this before."

"I-" What was he supposed to say?

"Shh, you go back to sleep." Porthos leant forward as if he were about to kiss him and then pulled away at the last second. "I'll see you in the morning, okay."


	20. Chapter 20

Just because they were no longer sharing a bed it didn't stop Porthos from being a very attentive nursemaid. Leaving Constance on her own to look after the business, he waited on Athos hand and foot, letting him rest as much as possible, encouraging him to get up occasionally, but only insisting on it when there were hospital appointments to attend.

Athos found he was more than happy to be bed bound. It was easier than facing life. He could do that once he was free of the threat of more seizures and his memory had been fully restored. In the meantime, it was best that he stay here. Best for everyone.

It took a surprise visit to upset the balance and change the course of his recovery.

"What's this nonsense about?" said a smiling, moustachioed man who was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. "It's three o'clock in the afternoon, Athos. Why aren't you up and dressed?"

Athos frowned at the unexpected intrusion. He knew the man. He’d seen him a lot. His name was-? His name was _Aramis_. It was a small moment of triumph. "Where's Porthos?" he demanded.

"Talking to d'Artagnan downstairs. He could do with a break once in a while. He's not your personal valet." Aramis leant on the door frame. "Now get up and go to the bathroom, chéri."

"I don't see why I have to," whined Athos. "I have no appointments today. Fuck off, Aramis. Leave me alone."

"Sorry, my friend, but that’s not going to happen," replied Aramis. "It's a lovely day; the sun is shining and the birds are singing and there's a whole world out there for you to enjoy. Not many people are privileged enough to live in a stately home."

Athos swung his legs around slowly, painfully, his bare feet finally making contact with the floorboards. As he fumbled around for the crutches, Aramis tutted.

"Have you been doing _any_ of the exercises your Nurse Ratched gave you? Have you been out of bed at all since I left?"

"Of course I have," retorted Athos.

"Well it doesn't look like it to me," said Aramis. "Your muscles are practically wasting away. Get up and get moving."

"Don't yell at him like that," shouted Porthos.

"Bugger off, Porthos," Aramis shouted back. "Go run your knicker business. Athos and I are fine. We'll be downstairs in a minute."

"No, we sodding well won't," said Athos. "You have absolutely no right to tell me what to do in my own fucking house."

"I see your vocabulary is uncouth but improving," said Aramis blithely. "Now let's get the rest of you up to speed."

Too bewildered to argue, Athos found himself washed, dressed and at the top of the stairs before he knew what had happened to him. It was a dizzying height down to the bottom and he grabbed the handrail for support, letting one of the crutches fall by the wayside. 

"That's it," said Aramis. "Go slowly."

Athos looked at him. "Porthos usually helps me."

"I realise that." Aramis raised his eyebrows. "Now do as I say and move. I'll be right beside you."

Slowly, hanging onto the bannisters for grim death, Athos inched his way down.

"There. That's your second achievement of the day," said Aramis with a grin.

"Second?"

"Well, you managed to have a wee standing up, which is better than last time I was here." 

Athos couldn't decide whether to be pissed off or not. In the end, he opted for a sardonic smirk and hoped it covered all bases.

"So you _are_ still in there," said Aramis. "Hello, Athos, nice to see you. We've missed you, Porthos especially."

Athos hung his head. "It's been difficult," he admitted.

"Of course it has." Aramis slid an arm around his waist. "You picked a fight with a car and your opponent won by a knockout. Now make me a coffee and tell me all the gossip."

Three worried faces stared at them when they entered the kitchen, but Aramis shooed them away. "Go off and do some work. Athos and I want to talk about you behind your backs."

\---

With Aramis in charge, Athos had no choice but to cope with real life and all its issues. Everything was a personal battle to overcome: eating, drinking, pissing, walking, even bathing. Reading was hard, as was remembering what he'd read for more than five minutes. Aramis took him to all his hospital appointments, making sure that the clinicians knew exactly how much, or how little he'd accomplished that week, and Athos couldn't decide whether to love or hate this man who made Nurse Ratched seem like Glinda the Good. The truth of the matter was, however, self evident. With Aramis’ help, he was improving in leaps and bounds. His medication was reduced and the fear of seizures was no longer the primary focus of his life. He was freed from his cage.

"I'll let you in on a secret," said Constance as she was peeling potatoes and Athos was sitting at the table, fighting to complete the crossword in the newspaper. "I asked d'Artagnan and Aramis to come over here to try and persuade Porthos to stop babying you."

Athos looked up, arching a quizzical eyebrow. "He was just looking after me."

"A little too much I think," said Constance. "But now it's your turn to look after him."

Athos put the newspaper down. It was a hard puzzle and he was never going to finish it, so they may as well have this conversation now. Constance clearly had something she needed to get off her chest. "Go on then," he said. "Enlighten me."

"Do you still love him?"

"What? Yes. Of course I do." Porthos was handsome and, more to the point, he was kind and gentle. He was also the most patient man in the world. If only Athos could remember what had bound them together as a couple.

"Then please stop hurting him, Athos,” said Constance. “Every time he comes near you, you push him away and make excuses. He's getting more depressed by the day."

D'Artagnan poked her head around the door, eager to get involved in the discussion and Athos picked up the newspaper again as a shield. With two women now on his case, the only safe thing to do was practice the age old masculine art of avoidance.

"Constance is right; you _do_ shy away from him," said d'Artagnan. "It's sad. When I first met you, you were always touching. It was like you couldn't bear to be apart for more than a second. It's partly why I fell in love with you both."

Athos looked askance at her.

"Not in that way," said d'Artagnan, rolling her eyes. "But you were my role models. I wanted to be who you were, have what you had. The connection between you was so strong, it was like a forcefield."

Athos heaved in an unhappy breath. "And now it's gone."

"Do you want it back?" asked Constance. 

Athos searched his soul and then his heart. He knew Porthos was everything that he would ever want, so why couldn't he let him in? "Yes," he said. "I want it back. I want _him_ back, but how am I supposed to do that when he's a stranger? He’s a lovely man, but not a person I know. It's entirely different to rebuilding a friendship. When it's someone you're already involved with then it seems wrong somehow."

"Give it a go for both your sakes," said Constance. "Try falling in love with him all over again."

For the rest of the day this conversation circled above Athos’ head like a persistent storm system. He knew what the girls had said made sense and so, after a couple of panicky false starts, he set off for the offices, armed with coffee, madeleines and a belly full of nerves.

"Hey," he said, relieved at finding Porthos there on his own and trying to sound nonchalant.

The man was sitting at his desk, lost in thought. For the first time since he'd come home, Athos looked at his partner properly, saw fresh worry lines etched on his face and sadness where, once upon a time, he vaguely remembered an unstoppable grin.

"Hello," said Porthos, welcoming smile now fixed in place. "This is a treat."

"Aramis has been teaching d'Artagnan to bake. She's doing quite well," said Athos, putting the mugs and plate down on the desk.

"I meant that it was a treat seeing you here," explained Porthos in a gruff voice. "But cakes are always good."

"I missed you," said Athos, and once the words had left his mouth he realised how much he meant them. "You work too hard."

Porthos stuttered in a breath and pressed the heels of both hands into his eyes. "Sorry," he said. "That was pretty much the gist of our last conversation before the accident."

"We were going to go away somewhere when things were quieter," said Athos, with a sudden burst of inspiration. "Be together, just the two of us. I remember you talking to me in the hospital, just after it happened, about that time we almost got arrested on my birthday when we couldn't wait to get home." He laughed. "We went down one of those mysterious side passages in the tube station and I think you were giving me a blow job when the transport police arrived. Is that right?"

"Yeah," said Porthos, scrubbing at his eyes again. "All that talking I did wasn't for nothing then?"

"No," said Athos. "It's all in here somewhere.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "Porthos, I didn't mean to push you away." He hunted for an explanation that would make sense. "I was frightened."

"Of me?" asked Porthos, wide eyed with worry.

"No, of course not." Athos took a step closer and reached out. "Of all kinds of things. Having another seizure was a big factor, but I think I was mostly scared of us."

"But we were amazing," said Porthos in a gruff voice. 

He looked wretched and Athos' heart went out to him. Why was he so useless with words? "So I've been told," he said. "And I think that's partly the problem." Their fingertips brushed together and there was electricity in the contact. "There's this expectation, from everyone, for us to be what we once were," he said. "But I remember so little of it and because of that I feel inadequate, I suppose."

"That's nothing new," said Porthos with a look of reassurance. "Fuck knows why, but you have confidence issues galore, babe." He inched forward and held Athos' hand tightly, rubbing his thumb over the skin. It was a hugely comforting sensation. "I have something to tell you that might help. Our relationship wasn't always that great. We spent most of last year barely talking, let alone touching. Don't put us on a pedestal. Yeah, we've been having a bit of a honeymoon period recently, but we still get in a strop with each other over nothing."

"Thank god for that," said Athos, perching his bum on the desk. He reached out to twist a finger into Porthos' hair. "I love these curls," he said. "They're gorgeous. I bet I used to tell you that a lot."

Porthos grinned. "You did indeed, darling, and you can tell me again as often as you want."

\--- 

Athos wondered how many new beginnings they'd had as a couple. Spinning in endless revolutions on an office chair, he concentrated on their past life together in London. Memories were like flashes of lightning in a dark sky, surreal rather than tangible, but allowing them to come back to him in this way reinforced the strength of their relationship. He was doing as Constance had suggested and falling in love with Porthos all over again. It was nice. Really nice.

"Not that I don't like having you here," said Porthos, looking up at him. "But all that twirling is making me dizzy and I have to sort some figures out for the accountant. He's popping in later so I need to be ready."

"I'm bored," said Athos, improving his motor skills by juggling highlighter pens from the tray.

"I'll gladly let you take over the spreadsheets," said Porthos.

Athos smirked at him. "I’m not that bored."

"Wait here." Porthos got up from his seat. "I'll be back in a sec."

Athos collected the stray pens from around the room, wondering what he was supposed to do here. It seemed as if the business ran well enough without him and he wondered, not for the first time, what his purpose was in all this. But then he _had_ provided the premises.

"Here you are," said Porthos, handing him a little Nikon camera. "If you don't want to go through the figures with me then bugger off and take some pictures."

"What of?" asked Athos.

"Anything. Everything."

"I used to take photos of you and d'Artagnan," said Athos with a flash of knowledge. The two sets of images lacked substance, but provoked very different responses in his mind.

"You did." Porthos smiled at him. "Now go and play nicely until teatime."

Slightly miffed at being given the brushoff in this way, Athos wandered into the warehouse, taking pictures of the staff who were busy at work, particularly enjoying snapping a set of old Serge, the newest member of the team, who posed like a film star in front of the racking for a full five minutes then joined him outside for a cigarette.

"How are you doing, boss?" he asked. "You're looking tip top."

"I'm pretty good," said Athos, thinking carefully before answering. "Much better than I thought I ever would be."

"I was run over once during my national service," said Serge. "Mind you, I was steaming drunk at the time and it didn't have much effect on my thick head."

After their smoke break was over, Serge went back to work and Athos wandered the smaller paths of the estate, his feet knowing the way, even if his brain failed at giving them directions. 

The summer months had been warm and wet and everything was verdant, branches gravid with flowers that were giving way to the onset of fruit. The pond was clogged with weeds and he sat cross-legged on the jetty, taking pictures of that dark green murk, all covered in lily pads. Lying back on the boards, he then lazed away the rest of the afternoon, soaking up sunshine and daydreaming. Memories danced behind his eyelids, ice white and bitter cold, with Porthos, tall and beautiful, standing out against a backdrop of frost. Breathing in with enjoyment, he let these images play at the edges of his mind, as he lay sheltered and happy in this solitary world.

With his cigarette pack now empty, he returned to the house, baked from the sun and as relaxed as he had been in months -- as he had been ever, in this current void of a headspace.

"Go away," yelled Constance when he opened the kitchen door. "I'm cooking."

"Let him in," said Porthos with a smile, taking possession of Athos' hands and pulling him into the room. 

They were safe with each other now, touching without awkwardness, and it was medicine for the soul to have one of those bear hugs. That said, Athos was still bothered by the strange turn of events. Why didn’t Constance want him here?

"Surprise," said d'Artagnan, running over to kiss him on the lips. "Happy Birthday."

Confused, Athos stood there in silence, his back moulded against Porthos. Why didn’t he know d’Artagnan was coming to visit? But more importantly -- birthday? He wondered, for a second, how old he was. A man should know these things.

"Sorry," said d'Artagnan guilelessly. "I may have let a cat out of a bag."

"You did," growled Porthos. "And you had every intention of doing so." Maneuvering Athos to face him, he rested both hands on his shoulders. "Happy Birthday, my darling. I am so bloody grateful to have you here with me."

It was the ideal moment for kissing, but it seemed that neither of them wanted to risk taking such a big step in front of the others.

"So there was no meeting with the accountant then?" said Athos.

Porthos grinned. "Nope. I just needed you out of the way so we could sneak these two idiots and a shit ton of presents inside the house."

By now Aramis had joined the rest of them in the kitchen. "Bonjour, chéri," he said kissing Athos on each cheek and then twice again for luck. "You look remarkably well."

"I am," said Athos. "Although apparently not mended enough to remember my own date of birth."

Aramis shrugged. "Minor details," he said. "Shall we get down to some present opening?"

They moved through into the study, soon joined in there by the Lafere employees who also wanted to wish Athos a happy birthday. It was the best kind of surprise party, intimate enough that he didn't feel threatened in the slightest, and sitting next to Porthos on the sofa, he opened his gifts, sipping some vintage champagne.

"I can't believe we have any of this nectar left," said Aramis, lifting the glass to the light and appreciating the mellow colour of the wine.

"I reckon we've sunk thousands of euros worth of it in the last few months," said Porthos. He had his arm around Athos and looked the epitome of a contented man. "I love you," he said, whispering those words, warm and secret, against Athos' ear.

"I love you more." His reply was loud enough for everyone to hear and provoked smiles from around the room. 

"That's a good thing to know," said Porthos, sweeping the hair out of Athos' eyes with a finger. "That'll do as my birthday present in advance." He pressed his lips to Athos', tender and fleeting. "I'd better get on with dinner or else d’Artagnan will complain about being starving."

“I’ve been starving for hours,” said d'Artagnan, nudging him into action with a sharp elbow.

With Porthos gone, Athos grew restless and took his camera out for a spin. It was a useful tool, allowing him to wander in and out of conversations as he pleased, but after taking a hundred pictures of his friends, he sought Porthos out once more and snapped photographs of him bent over the range. Something sparked bright in his mind, vivid in colour, and he prowled a few steps closer. 

"This is wrong," he said, grabbing the exposed waistband of Porthos' boxer shorts and giving them a tweak. "Why is this wrong?"

Porthos stood up, holding his arms out for a hug and it was much needed, because by now Athos was growing more and more confused by his feelings.

"Can I tell you later?" said Porthos, kissing him on the mouth for longer this time, and just for a moment their tongues touched together.

From then onwards Athos could think of nothing but Porthos. His gentle giant had grown a foot taller, happy and handsome, a talisman keeping Athos safe and weaving together all the broken parts.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” said Porthos as they were finishing off the last last of the tidying, the other guests having had the sense to leave them alone to wind up the evening together. “Was this a mistake?”

“God, no,” yawned Athos, resting his head briefly against Porthos’ shoulder. “It was a wonderful day from start to finish. I love it here. I love being with you.” He lacked the vocabulary to explain this slow rebirth of feelings and emotions he’d been experiencing recently. It was as if the memories were a word on the tip of his tongue, but the sentiments that belonged to them were back where they belonged.

“Good,” said Porthos. “That’s all I need to hear. Now up to bed, my gorgeous man. You’re totally exhausted.”

This was true enough, but on reaching his bedroom door Athos was loathe to have the evening reach an end just yet. “Come and talk to me,” he said. “Tell me a story. You promised, ages ago, to fill in some of the blanks.”

“I did, didn’t I?” grinned Porthos. “Okay then.”

Typical of summer, the temperature seemed to increase rather than decrease as the hours passed and night wore on. Stripped down to underwear, they rolled back the quilt and lay propped up on pillows, resting face to face. It was intimate, even without touching, and was also wonderfully familiar to Athos.

“What do you want to know?” asked Porthos.

Athos needed to hear everything. “Start at the beginning,” he said. “Tell me how we met.” His fingers crept around to play with the elastic waistband of Porthos' boxers. 

Porthos laughed. “You mean our incredibly long one night stand? Do you want it complete with all the juicy bits?”

“I do.” His lips tugging upwards into a half smile, Athos rested a hand on Porthos’ side and watched the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest as he began to retell their history. He listened intently, laughing at Porthos’ descriptions and then, unable to stop himself, he sank into sleep.

“And they both lived happily ever after.”

The mattress moved. The weight of a quilt was tucked around Athos’ body and he opened his eyes to see what was going on. “Stay here,” he murmured.

“You sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure,” said Athos, drifting back to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

“Thank you for staying,” said Athos. He’d woken, folded around Porthos, moulded against his body. He was hard, but whether it was from arousal or the need for a piss he wasn’t quite certain. His responses to stimuli were still muddled and unpredictable.

Porthos yawned and stretched. “Thank you for asking me.” He grinned. “Best night's sleep I’ve had in ages, thanks to your lovely presence.”

“Or maybe the champagne?” Athos got out of a bed and pulled on a robe, tying it quickly around him to cover his erection.

“Or maybe the champagne,” agreed Porthos. “But I doubt it.” His eyes wandered lazily over Athos, taking in every inch. “Going for a bath?”

Athos felt unnaturally hot. His whole body tingled. “Yes,” he said. 

“Leave the water and I’ll hop in after you.”

Nodding, Athos hurried away to the bathroom, prickly and unsettled. As the tub filled, for one horrible moment he wondered whether this was the onset of another seizure, but then dismissed this as ludicrous. Why would that happen now when he was so much better? 

The bath did little to soothe his ragged senses and, returning to the bedroom, he watched as Porthos loped off down the corridor for a soak. Pacing the floorboards, he thought of him stripping off and then lounging in the tub. It was heady, simple but provocative, and Athos took the story a little further, taking Porthos’ hand and placing it over his stiff cock.

“Definitely not epilepsy,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and allowing himself a little more time to enjoy the mental picture show.

When Porthos returned within a couple of minutes, Athos knew that his brief fantasy could not have been centred around an actual event and he pushed it aside, tamping down his desire.

Porthos dressed himself in yesterday’s clothes. “There's a definite bonus about working from home,” he said with a smile. “No one cares whether I have clean pants on or not.”

“Don’t go to work just yet,” said Athos, stepping closer and running his hand restlessly up and down Porthos’ arm. He wanted him, this arousal a brand new sensation as it unfettered itself and spilled hot through his veins. “Stay here with me.”

“This is getting to be a habit.” Porthos rested a hand on Athos’ cheek and there was an intensity about his eyes that contrasted with his words. “We haven’t even had a proper kiss yet.”

“Then kiss me,” said Athos, reaching for Porthos' mouth, opening to him, pushing into him, tongue sliding against tongue. His dressing gown fell open and he was bare against Porthos, hard with excitement. 

Porthos captured him in his arms, licking into him, growling with need and muttering words about love, love and more love, but then, inexplicably, he pulled away from the contact.

“You’re certain you want me?” he said, hands resting on Athos’ shoulders as a restraint, pushing him, pulling him, holding him at bay. “Think carefully, Athos. If I’m still that stranger. If any part of you is unsure about us.”

“I love you and I want you,” said Athos How could he express himself any more clearly? He did understand Porthos’ anxiety though. This had been a difficult few months for everyone. “I don’t know everything about you and I’m not sure I ever will. I hope it’ll all come back to me, but if it doesn’t then I don’t care. I love this man here.” He tangled his fingers into Porthos’ hair. “I love this man who’s incredibly handsome, but more importantly makes me smile when I’m miserable and picks me up when everything's gone wrong. I love this man, who’s kind and funny and--god--so fucking sexy it takes my breath away.”

“You mean all that?” said Porthos, his eyes wide with hope.

“No, I lied.” Athos raised an eyebrow. “Every word of it was complete and utter bollocks.”

“Bastard.” Porthos tumbled him back onto the bed, trapping him in between his knees. “Don’t do that to me.” He pounced, stealing a kiss, lips soft yet demanding. “You swear a lot more now than you used to.” He grinned triumphantly. “You have a dirty mouth, your Lordship.”

Athos weaved their fingers together and smirked up at him. He was naked and erect. He was also totally at ease with it. “I’ll try to keep my wayward tongue under control.”

“Never,” breathed Porthos, pushing him cruciform and taking his mouth in kiss after kiss after kiss. “Don’t you bloody well dare.”

Athos reached for Porthos, unbuttoning his flies and tugging jeans and those confusing boxer shorts down to mid thigh. Taking a firm hold of Porthos’ big cock, he wet his lips with a swipe of tongue. “This part I do remember.” He let out a sudden huff of laughter. “I know exactly what to do with this.”

“Well that’s a shame.” Porthos grinned. “I was looking forward to teaching my innocent master some new tricks.”

“Terribly sorry.” Athos laughed again.

The mood then changed and they fell under a spell, touching and kissing, all the time talking quietly to each other about love.

“Tell me about The Welly again,” said Athos.

“I haven't told you about the last time we were there, have I?” said Porthos and Athos shook his head. “We’d been teasing each other all evening, Ath, and we were so turned on by the time we got to the pub that you dragged me off straight away and gave me a lapdance. I fucked you with guys all around us watching what we were doing. You fucked me later up against the wall when we were in Heaven. You made me come in my pants.”

They gazed at each other, still spellbound.

Athos tried to imagine himself behaving in this way and found it entirely possible, essential when Porthos was with him. “Please tell me we didn’t also own a white van and go to car parks at night,” he smirked.

Porthos howled with laughter, twisting them around and hauling at Athos until he was straddling him. “You never need worry,” he said. “I promise you that you’re the same man I fell in love with six years ago.”

This simple sentence turned out to be the key that unlocked Athos. At the back of his mind had always lurked the fear that he was as different to Porthos as Porthos was new to him and, because of this, he had never quite been able to let go. Now the floodgates were open and whatever mysteries still remained could be left to unravel themselves. With a gasp of unmitigated delight, Athos stripped Porthos, working his way down that big body, lavishing him with kisses and then taking him into his mouth. He moaned, humming with pleasure as he pulled Porthos into him, gorging on his cock, fingering him as he swallowed him balls deep.

Arching into this, Porthos cried out helplessly. "So good, baby. Missed you so much. Love you. My own darling, God. So good. So fucking good. Yes. Yes." And then after a while: "No no no, enough. Stop please, not yet. Please don’t make me come yet."

Athos was hazy with arousal, on the cusp of his own orgasm, and as Porthos stretched him open with slick fingers he thrashed and reached for his mouth, kissing him to quench the thirst. When Porthos pushed into him, hot and big, memories caught at the edges of his senses: roughness, sleekness, soft and languid, dirty and fast. Together. Always.

Rolling them over, he trapped Porthos between his knees and rode his cock in a slow grind of bodies. "I love you," he said, a breath separating each word and then a kiss ending the sentence.

Again they moved, connected by a bridge of cock and a mouthful of tongue. It was slower now, fingernails strafing at skin, hands reaching down to hold, stroke, touch where they were joined.

"We'll never stop doing this again," vowed Porthos, his eyes full and dark. 

"Never," Athos answered against his mouth, their lips touching. He imagined them locked together for eternity, loving each other and laughing with happiness. They had so much lost time to make up.

Shifting once more, Athos now on all fours, Porthos took him in syncopated rhythm and hard strokes, their bodies slapping, slamming together, forcing gasps of breath and sighs of pleasure from them both. 

A final twist and turn brought Athos into Porthos' lap, arms locked around his neck, cock lodged between them, as Porthos braced himself on the wooden upright of the bed and fucked into him.

"More," said Athos, all of him on fire. "Harder."

He pitched backwards as Porthos spread him out on the bed and then laid him, bringing him off with a hand as he filled him up. There was a surreal moment afterwards which Athos could only describe as an out of body experience--a spiritual joining--then they collapsed together, sticky with sex, damp with sweat, and happy all over again. Happily ever after.

"Okay, we've proved twice now that abstinence leads to some amazing sex," said Porthos. "But I don't give a shit. I intend to make love to you as often as possible and in as many different places as possible until we're old, grey and totally knackered."

"As a matter of interest," said Athos in a small voice. "How old am I?"

“Baby.” Porthos choked up again. "You're thirty two and ten times as gorgeous as the night I met you." He smiled and rested their foreheads together. "I'm thirty, soon to be thirty one, and I will always be your very own toyboy."

"My very own," repeated Athos with a half smile made up of contentment as the words resonated deep inside him.

\---

"What was happening in your room this morning?" said d'Artagnan, smiling cheekily at Athos as he and Porthos arrived at the kitchen table armed with mugs of coffee and biscuits. "It sounded like a wild bull on the rampage. Or was that Porthos having an-?"

"Enough, d'Artagnan," interrupted Athos, fixing her with a stern look. "Learn some manners quickly, or find somewhere else to stay."

The last thing he expected was to have his arms full of teary girl. 

"My dad’s back," she said, burying her face in his neck. "I missed you."

The strangest thing of all was how right it felt, even more so when Porthos came to stand behind them, one hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, the other tangled into Athos' hair.

"I only told you off," said Athos, bemused by the whole thing. His entire life was an adventure: a roller coaster of discovery.

"She's used to that," said Porthos in a gruff voice. "We're a fucked up little family."

“But very sweet with it,” said Aramis. "So, it’s a morning of reunions, I see.” He came over to join them. "I like this. It reminds me of life with my grandmother."

"Well then, your grandmother must have been very strange indeed," said Athos. 

"Ahhhh," said Aramis, breathing in deeply with nostalgic satisfaction. "The things I could tell you about Madame Angel." He patted Athos on the back. "D'Artagnan and I are off for some lunch at Bertrand's place. Come with us and I’ll regale you with stories that'll shock the pants off you."

Athos toyed with the idea, but the mention of pants reminded him of something. "No thanks," he said, looking up at Porthos. "I believe we have some of our own tales to tell."

Leaning forward, Porthos kissed the top of his head. "They can wait," he said. "Lunch sounds like a good idea to me."

Athos frowned. What was this thing lurking at the back of his mind? He knew it was important.

Porthos removed d'Artagnan from Athos' lap and hunkered down next to him. "It’s nothing to panic about," he said in a low voice. "At least I hope not. We'll talk about it tonight."

Resigning himself to a few more hours of confusion, Athos set about putting his boots on. Nothing was going to upset him today. He glanced at Porthos, remembering their lovemaking and picturing that moment of reunion. 

“Later,” said Porthos with a smile.

On the way to the village they kidnapped Constance from the design studio and persuaded her to have lunch with them . Athos was a little worried that she might be annoyed with him for stealing Porthos away all morning, but instead she kissed him on the cheek and linked their arms.

“So,” she said with a smile. “I happened to be on the landing this morning and it sounded very much like you were busy being in love.”

“Do all three of you spend your lives listening at keyholes?” Athos glared at his friends.

“We don’t need to.” D’Artagnan grinned at him. “Not with the racket you make. Bertrand will have heard Porthos _coming_ a mile away.”

A single raised eyebrow said all that was needed.

“Sorry,” chimed d’Artagnan in mock penitence. “I’ll try to be good, but you make it so easy.”

“I think _easy_ is a term better applied to you, missy.” Athos smirked whilst Constance dissolved into giggles.

“Now that’s what I call a burn,” said Porthos. “You had that coming to you, young lady.”

\---

It had been a wonderful day, mused Athos as he sat on the step of the open french doors, smoking his final cigarette of the evening. Lunch had been a riot, Aramis entertaining everyone at the Tabac with his strange history and Bertrand joining in and describing his visits to the whorehouses of Europe. It was a good thing Jeanne was at work because otherwise she may have seen her father in a whole new light.

For the first time since the accident, Athos felt totally at ease. If there were things he should know that had vanished from his memory then his friends filled in the gaps without question. Nothing about life seemed complicated, especially where Porthos was concerned, because being in love was the easiest thing in the world. "Are you ready for bed yet?" 

It was the third time he'd asked and Porthos turned and grinned at him. "Soon," he promised. "Nearly done."

Porthos had been preoccupied all evening and had spent the last half hour transferring files from laptop to tablet but, by now Athos had had his fill of delaying tactics. He didn’t give a damn about truths, lies or secrets. "I want you," he said, kissing the back of Porthos' neck.

"Just about finished," said Porthos, stretching the sentence out until he was ready to shut down the laptop with a slam of the lid. "Are we locked up for the night?"

"Yes," said Athos impatiently as he turned the key in the French doors. "Constance is at François'. Aramis and d'Artagnan went to bed a while ago. Unless you want me to make a drink, then we're all ready to go."

"Maybe we should have a cuppa to take up."

If Porthos hadn't looked so uncomfortable then Athos might have snapped at him for his procrastination. Instead he was gentle. "Whatever you have to say to me can't be that bad," he said, chivvying Porthos towards the stairs. "Did I know about it before?"

"Yes," said Porthos as he reached the landing.

"Did it spoil things between us?" For the life of him, Athos couldn't work out what this was about.

"No, it didn't." Porthos opened the bedroom door. "To be honest, babe, I was hoping that you'd have put two and two together by now."

"Are you calling me slow?" Athos sprawled on the bed, resting back on his elbows.

"I'm saying that your brain works in mysterious ways." Porthos lounged next to him and took hold of his hand, playing with the fingers.

It was enough to plant the seeds of arousal and Athos nudged in closer. "It has to reroute everything," he said with a smile. "Give it some help and tell me my bedtime story." 

Freeing his hand, Porthos picked up the iPad. "I'm not sure where to begin," he said, anxiety creeping in. "Words or pictures?"

"Both," said Athos, looking up. "Please?"

"Okay then, here goes everything," said Porthos and his voice was a little shaky. "It started at the beginning of last year. For a few months I'd been hiding a secret from you," he began. "And then you found out about it and, up until your accident happened, it was the worst time of my life."

This could only be about unfaithfulness, thought Athos and his heart ached. "You fell in love with someone else?"

"No. Never," declared Porthos. "This was always about me." He gnawed anxiously at his lip. "You've never really taken much notice of the business since you've been home, have you?" he said. "Not looked at the website or even picked up a catalogue."

Athos felt guilty. It was true; he hadn't. It didn't feel as if it belonged to him. "I'm a sleeping partner," he said with a tug of the lips. "I thought we were talking about your secret?"

"We are," said Porthos, aiming a pointed look at him. "Very much so."

There was a long silence as the penny teetered and then dropped. Lingerie. For men. Athos’ reaction was sudden and unexpected: a flare of arousal so strong he could feel his entire body tightening with excitement. "Go on." His voice came out low and dirty with lust, loud to his ears.

“You don’t mind?”

“God no.”

As relieved as any man could ever look, Porthos grinned and inclined his head to kiss Athos on the lips. "Want to see the picture book version now?" he said, sitting up and resting on the pillows, his iPad on his knee.

"Yes, please." Athos nestled into his side, aware that Porthos' eyes were drawn to the swell of his erection. "Show me everything," he said with a smile.

"I love you, Athos."

"I love you too." Athos was growing impatient. "Show me now," he insisted. "Tell me all about us."

Porthos clicked on the first picture in the gallery which turned out to be nothing more than one of himself tucked up in bed. "We'd been properly back together, secrets and all, for a couple of weeks here," he said. "They gave you the camera as a leaving present from work, and this is what happened the morning after."

Athos heaved in an excited breath at the next picture. Porthos was still asleep, but the duvet had had been pulled back, revealing his fetish for the first time. He looked incredible, rumpled and sexy, his cock housed snugly inside a pair of pretty mesh panties. The matching bra fitted neatly around him and Athos breathed in and out, trying to control himself, imagining himself, cock in hand, rubbing off against those nipples.

"You’re still okay with this?" asked Porthos, glancing at him.

"Show me more," said Athos with a smile of reassurance.

"I woke up," said Porthos. "Saw what you were doing and got my own back."

The next shots were of Athos, naked and hard, romping with Porthos, play turning to love as they kissed. 

"We were too busy after that for any more photography," laughed Porthos. "We couldn't keep our hands off each other." He moved on to the next set. "This here is when we’d decided to have a go at making lingerie for blokes. You wanted me to model for you."

Athos grabbed at himself through his jeans, squeezing the base of his cock. "You look gorgeous," he said. Porthos in high heels, corset and stockings was simply stunning. "How could I have forgotten this?"

"I did wonder," said Porthos. "Actually I was worried. I wondered if you had some deep seated discomfort with the whole thing."

"No, not in the slightest," said Athos, entranced by the pictures, letting his finger ghost over the image, a millimeter from the screen. "I really fucking hate my brain right now."

The penultimate picture was the most erotic yet. Porthos was caught looking up at the camera, a teasing smile on his face as he stood, his legs at shoulder distance apart, hips thrust forward and erect cock in his hand.

"God," groaned Athos, toying with his fly.

"Nope," said Porthos, slapping playfully at that hand until it moved. "No getting off during story time. This is important. It's our history." He moved on to the next in the gallery which was a wonky angled shot of a tiled floor. "Do you remember what happened next?"

Something unexpectedly made Athos laugh. It was sensation more than memory, but the feeling was real. "I fell down and you picked me up."

Porthos nodded and grinned. "You're a constant danger to yourself, honey. I should keep you somewhere warm and safe always."

The idea of being Porthos' plaything, secured in bed, appealed greatly and Athos turned, sucking kisses into the soft skin at the crease of Porthos’ neck which resulted in a low rumble of pleasure. They shifted together, engaging in some gentle mouth to mouth, and then kissed properly, iPad forgotten for the moment as they got off with each other.

"Where were we?" said Porthos, dragging himself away before things went too far.

"About to fuck?" suggested Athos hopefully, adjusting the awkward lie of his cock.

"Patience," laughed Porthos. "We're just getting to the good bit."

"They're all good bits, as far as I can see," said Athos, his eyes straying to Porthos' prominent bulge, fingers reaching out to touch the forbidden fruit.

"Not yet." Once again Porthos removed that errant hand and carried on with his story. "These ones are from the first shoot you did with your new camera."

Athos was fairly impressed with his previously unknown photography skills, but more importantly he was in awe of Porthos and the way he performed in front of the lens. "You look spectacular."

" _We_ look spectacular." 

Porthos tapped the screen and Athos saw himself, stern faced and masterful, wielding a riding crop that was resting against Porthos' silk covered arse. "Jesus. Please don't tell me this was ever in print. It's- I don’t know."

"Erotic?"

"Disturbingly so," confirmed Athos.

"The corset you're wearing is Constance's first piece for the Rigeur line," explained Porthos. "Some shots were used for the catalogue, but this one we kept just for us."

They came together again, clawing at each other, months and bodies locked together until, with a serious amount of effort on both parts, the kissing wound down into gentle sweeps of tongue. 

"Have I ever worn it since?" said Athos.

Porthos smiled. "When I ask you to put it on for me."

The juxtaposition of submissive and dominant was arousing in itself and Athos moaned low in his throat.

"Stop that," insisted Porthos, half joking, half deadly serious. "Or I won't be responsible for my actions."

"I'll try," said Athos. He was edged to extreme, his skin burning, his senses tingling, the pulse of blood in his cock urging him to fuck and fuck soon. To fuck right now.

Porthos rested a hand against Athos' cheek. "I know," he said in a low voice. "Believe me, I want you just as much, but we've nearly finished the story." He picked up the iPad once more. "Christmas at La Fère. With neither of us having families, we've always gone on holiday to avoid the chaos, usually somewhere tropical and luxurious. This year was our first ever traditional one."

"And it was good?" prompted Athos.

"The decorations were a disaster and I set the bloody goose on fire," said Porthos with a grin. "But it was the best time of our lives. He tapped the iPad. "This is what happened Christmas morning."

"And that, I believe, is it happening on the kitchen table," smirked Athos.

This could have been sordid, but, in fact, it was a million away miles from it. Athos studied each picture in silence, the images progressing from teasing through to sex and ending up at exhausted contentment.

"We made love all day and then we went out to dinner at Bertrand’s," said Porthos. "It was magical and I never wanted it to end." 

Then he fell silent for a moment and Athos began to worry. Had he said something wrong?.

“Fuck!” Porthos clenched his teeth, angry now and refusing to look Athos in the eye. "But it did end, didn’t it? Firstly, when I thought you were dead and then when I found out that you didn't love me anymore." Turning away, he hugged his knees, the iPad falling unwanted onto the floor as Athos stroked his leg anxiously, trying to comfort him as best he could. "Sorry," he said when he'd gathered himself together, that mask of a smile fixed back in place.

Athos hated seeing it there. "Don’t hide,” he said. “You're allowed to be angry.” He wrapped his arms around that tense body, trying to hug away some of the pain.

"No, I'm not,” muttered Porthos. “We're supposed to be making things right."

"But we are," said Athos gently. "It's not all about me, Porthos. I pushed you away after everything you'd done for me and you never once got upset."

“I did,” said Porthos. “But I didn’t want to make things even harder for you than they already were.”

“I’m well now. I’m strong enough to take it,” said Athos, still stroking Porthos’ leg. “Tell me how bad you felt. Be mad at me. Shout at me for treating you like shit. You have every right to do so.”

“It’s not about shouting,” said Porthos in a low voice. “I wasn’t angry; I was miserable. You could hardly even look at me and I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.”

“I didn’t know you.” Athos hunted for an explanation that wouldn’t inflict any further pain. “It was an awkward situation.”

"You were more comfortable with Aramis than you were with me," said Porthos and there was so much anguish in those brown eyes. Everything that he’d kept hidden from Athos since the day of the accident. "It hurt. It broke me into pieces. I would have done anything for you."

"You did," said Athos. "But there were things about myself, about you, that I had to relearn and no one could help me with that. I tried so hard to remember what it was like to be in love with you and I couldn't do it. Then I stopped trying and fell in love with you all over again.”

“You were shy,” said Porthos with a ghost of a smile. “Just like you were the morning after we first slept together.”

“The longest ever one night stand.”

“Yeah,” said Porthos.

“How’s that going, do you think?” smirked Athos.

“Pretty good,” said Porthos. “Ups and downs. It has its moments.”

“I was about to leave,” said Athos, memories of that first morning crashing over him. “It was early and I was going home to change rather than do the dreaded walk of shame into the office.”

“I thought you were sneaking off and I wasn’t going to let that happen,” said Porthos. “I raced you to the door and I asked you out to dinner that evening.”

“And we kissed,” smiled Athos, leaning in to touch mouths with Porthos to prove he hadn’t forgotten how it was done.

“When you’d gone I found that you’d written your number down and left it beside the bed.”

“And you called it,” said Athos.

“To see if it was real.” Porthos laughed.

“And then we talked all the way to the Tube station.” Athos pulled at Porthos until he was lying on his back, resting his face on that barrel chest and listening to the comforting thump of his heartbeat. The resurgence of that particular memory had both grounded and shocked him. It was the beginning of everything: so powerful in his mind that he could still feel the waves of excitement.

"Thank you," said Porthos out of the blue, knocking him back to reality.

"For what?" Athos could feel the tension subsiding, but he was confused.

"For letting me talk," said Porthos. "You and me are always at our best when we're honest with each other."

"Then we’ll be at our best all the time from now on." Athos switched positions, hooking an arm around Porthos and manoeuvring them until he became protector rather than protected. Weaving his fingers into Porthos' curls, he tangled and untangled, pulling gently at the hair. “Porthos,” he breathed and it was more than just a name.

Porthos pushed into his touch. "I don't need to worry about you any longer," he said and it was significant.

Athos could feel that big grin emerge and responded to it in kind. "Actually, yes you do. From now on we worry about each other, and we take care of each other, and we love each other always."

"And we fuck each other a lot," added Porthos, his grin getting wider if that were at all possible.

Athos kissed the top of his head. "That part was never in dispute."

Cuddles turned to kisses and kisses turned to some serious making out until Athos' head was spinning and he was groaning into Porthos' mouth. His hands wandered and he unbuttoned Porthos' flies, his fingers encountering rough lace and soft satin.

"Oh my god," he groaned, kissing his way down Porthos and discovering a beautifully cut black bra on the way. Unzipping his flies with trembling fingers, he hooked his cock free, rubbing the glossy head over Porthos' gorgeous tits.

"Yeah, you beauty," sighed Porthos, struggling to get free of his clothes and lying spread ready for Athos to have his way. "Just like that. Use me. Use me up."

This was another reunion to remember. Filthy with kink, chockful of love, they fucked with abandon, sucking each other to take the edge off, then building up to a monumentally good ending with Athos pounding into Porthos, his hand full of sticky, satin covered cock. His hands full of his beautiful man, as it was meant to be.

"Do we ever get any work done around here?" he said as they collapsed in a heap on the bed.

"Not a lot." Porthos yawned, stretched and then hauled a very willing body into his arms. "You'll get used to us."

"I can't wait," said Athos, the side of his mouth tipping upwards into a contented half smile.


	22. Chapter 22

To Athos’ relief, life at La Fère now quietened down considerably. Aramis and d’Artagnan returned to London to prepare for the autumn season, always a frantic one for shop owners, and Constance was also busy, dividing her time between the design studio and looking after her mother, spending any remaining hours with the lovely Dr Lemay.

Having the house to themselves, as well as the time to enjoy it, was a guilty pleasure, especially seeing as their friends were all rushed off their feet, but Athos was far too happy to give much of a damn, and so both he and Porthos luxuriated in this blissful honeymoon period. 

“It’s like it’s Christmas every single day,” said Porthos who enjoyed the freedom of being able to make breakfast, wearing only a corset and stockings, if he so desired. Usually it was more utilitarian underwear on work days and Athos got just as much pleasure out of the soft cotton briefs and simple bra tops as he did from the fancier stuff, though his current favourites from the Lavish oeuvre were the new range of thongs which showed off Porthos’ arse to perfection.

These leisurely breakfasts, intermingled with kisses and cuddles, were then followed by a trip back to the real world as they dressed in more suitable clothes for the day and set out on the five minute walk across the grounds to the Lafere offices. Athos, having fallen head over in heels in love with Porthos for the second time in his life, was loathe to let him out of his sight and so, slowly, he was returning to work. This turned out to be more of a challenge than he was expecting. Things didn’t come easily to him since the accident. After a few disastrous phone calls which pushed him close to the edge of despair, he now wrote copious notes before every conversation and meeting, determined to become a useful business partner once again.

Understanding of his insular nature, Porthos and Constance left him alone to overcome this hurdle. They were there as support to offer comfort and advice, but would never intervene unless he asked them for help. His greatest achievement so far, other than relearning how to use the computer, was to begin the process of setting Lafere up as an SARL in order to save on taxes and protect their personal assets.

Porthos swung around in his office chair, that big grin back where it belonged. “Hey, gorgeous! I’ve just been sent the drafts of the new Christmas catalogues,” he said. “Shall I forward them on to you?”

“M’kay,” replied Athos, hearing the words but not necessarily taking them in. He was busy filling out a start up grant application and was finding it a struggle to remember all the necessary dates and details.

“You don't want to look at the latest pictures of my arse?” said Porthos, coming over to stand behind him, rubbing at his shoulders. “Either I’m slipping, or you’re working too hard.”

They were telling words. Porthos may have known not to interfere, but he still had a fierce instinct to protect Athos at all times. It hadn’t been an exaggeration about holding his hand when crossing the road.

Rechecking everything for the hundredth time, Athos clicked send and then looked up at Porthos, blanketed as always by a warm weight of love. “Your bum takes precedence over everything,” he said, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “Although I do have prior knowledge seeing as I was the one who took the photographs.”

“Just have a look,” growled Porthos, sitting down next to him.

Athos opened the Lavish file and clicked through the pages slowly. Rather than the usual festive banality this was sophisticated stuff, still seasonal but without any of usual sparkles. The simple design of the layout set off their underwear perfectly. The models all looked impressive, but none more so than Porthos who took Athos’ breath away as always. He looked more stunning than ever. 

“I’m not certain I want everyone looking at you,” he said and it was only half spoken in jest.

“Been thinking about that myself,” said Porthos in a gruff voice. “We’ll pay for professional models from now on, eh?”

Athos captured Porthos’ hand and kissed each knuckle. The contact wasn’t enough and, checking first that there was no one about, he straddled Porthos’ knee.

“Must be coffee time by now,” he murmured, biting at Porthos’ neck then sucking hard to create a mark of ownership. He sat back to survey his work, saddened that it would soon fade.

“I think-” said Porthos, getting waylaid for a moment by Athos’ mouth. “I think we should-” The kisses deepened. “You’re too distracting by half.” He grinned. “How about we have our elevenses in my new sex swing?”

Athos laughed. Porthos had thoroughly enjoyed his recent birthday, delighting in each one of his presents, but none more so than the middle eastern hammock which Athos had strung up in a private part of the estate, close to the pond and away from both offices and house. He'd intended it as a place for Porthos to chill out, but so far the relaxation techniques had been pretty unconventional by most people’s standards.

“It might be the last warm day we get this year,” encouraged Porthos.

“We should probably wait until after work,” said Athos.

“It’ll be chilly outside by then.” Porthos slid both hands down the back of Athos’ chinos. “Besides, I want to play with you right now. Let’s be naughty. Come on.”

Athos didn’t take much persuading--did he ever?--and they snuck off like badly behaved boys, skirting the warehouse, armed with a flask of coffee as camouflage, just in case anyone asked what they were doing. 

The trees were on the turn now, an artist’s palette of red, gold and russet. A few more frosty nights would set the fall in motion and soon they’d be knee deep in crisp brown leaves. Under the canopy of a chestnut giant, they stripped each other off and kissed with ever increasing desire. 

“I want to be naked,” said Porthos when Athos stopped at the blue lace briefs and camisole top. “I want to feel my skin against yours.”

They’d never been this unrestrained outside before. Alfresco sex had always been a semi-clad frolic, their games enhanced by the fear of discovery. Today, that sense of furtiveness had disappeared and was replaced by a more animal need to be close. There was something beautifully base about this and as Porthos sat in the woven bed with Athos astride him, they kissed, deep, deeper still and then slipped down into the well of the hammock.

Making love would be too noisy, neither one of them practiced at the art of subtlety, and so they lay sprawled together, kissing lazily, their hands, wet with spit, wrapped around each other and pulling in a steady rhythm.

“This is heaven,” said Athos, listening to the slick sounds of their play, a counterpoint to the birdsong coming from the trees. “Let’s skive off for the rest of the day and stay here.”

“Suits me fine,” said Porthos.

“You know when we were at the hospital,” said Athos. He watched the passage of Porthos’ cock as it slid through the circle of his palm. “And they said I wasn’t your next of kin?”

“Yeah.” Porthos sighed as Athos increased the pressure, tightening his fingers. “Well technically they said I wasn’t yours, but same difference.” He pulled back a little and looked at Athos. “What made you think of that at a time like this, babe?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” admitted Athos. “Porthos, can we change that?” He was nervous now, his hand moving in quick jerks. Porthos stilled him and they remained suspended in time and space. “You _are_ my next of kin. You’re my everything and I don’t want anyone to be able to challenge that ever again.”

“You want us to-” said Porthos and then he was kissing Athos fiercely, taking his breath away quite literally this time.

“Mmm,” moaned Athos in between mouthfuls. His fingers were threaded into Porthos’ hair and those big hands, in response, were cupped tightly around his face. “Yes. Yes, I do. Say you’ll marry me, or civil me, or union me. Anything. I need you to be mine.”

“I’m all yours,” said Porthos. “But yes. Fuck yes. Of course I will. I love you, you crazy man.” 

Athos couldn’t get enough of the kissing. Still talking, still planning, he interspersed every word with more of it, nipping at Porthos’ lips, licking into his mouth.

Porthos lay spreadeagled in the hammock, looking a little stunned, a grin of surprised delight on his face. “We’re getting bloody married.” He paused for a moment. “Can we do that here?”

“We can,” said Athos. Normal service now resumed, they lay together face to face, hands around each other's cocks, back where they belonged. “Everyone in France has an official civil ceremony at the Mairie and then they go off and do whatever kind of wedding they want.”

“So we don't even need to make a fuss?”

Athos smiled. Porthos knew him too well. “We can, if you like. Or we can just wander down to the village with a few friends as witnesses.”

“And get hitched,” added Porthos, an excited grin on his face. “How soon can we do it, babe? Can it be now. I want to civilise you right now.”

They opted instead for a different kind of union, just as much about commitment, and when Athos pushed into Porthos, felt those legs clamp around him as they rocked together in the hammock, he knew, for the first time since the accident, that he was happier than ever before.

“I’ll try to be quiet,” murmured Porthos, his breath warm against Athos’ skin. “But I can’t promise miracles. You feel so good in me.”

“Make as much noise as you like.” Athos kissed him hard on the lips. “Break the damn sound barrier.”

\---

Six weeks later, with reams of paperwork in place and the banns all read, five people walked down to the village of Piñon. It was a quiet Wednesday morning. The November air was crisp and cold and everything would have been peaceful, if it hadn’t been for the incessant chattering of d’Artagnan.

“Isn’t it a bit early for lunch?” she said, her gloved hand resting inside Aramis’ naked one. “I am glad you asked us over though. It’s already crazy in London and it’s going to get even more chaotic soon. We needed to catch up because I don’t know if we’ll get another chance before Christmas.” She turned to gaze at Athos. “Are you going to take me shopping in Paris? Remember all those clothes you bought me last year?”

“Thankfully, I don’t,” said Athos with a smirk. “Though it seems I was even more stupid before the accident.”

Porthos chuckled. “More gullible perhaps. A soft touch.”

“Why are there so many people outside the Mairie?” asked Constance as they rounded the bend. “What’s going on?”

Athos looked at Porthos and pulled a face. The tiny building was almost obscured by bodies. 

“You didn’t honestly think they’d let us get away with it,” smiled Porthos, slipping his arm around around Athos. “They’re here to see us be happy.”

“You wicked sods,” said Aramis, untethering himself from d’Artagnan and kissing Athos and then Porthos on the lips. “Why didn’t you damn well tell us?”

“Tell us what?” demanded d’Artagnan.

Constance had her arms folded and her lips pursed. “That they’re getting married. You are the most annoying pair of best friends a girl could ever have.”

“Also the most annoying dads,” added d'Artagnan. “Oh my god, think of the party we could have planned.” She caught a look from Athos and smiled. “And I’m guessing that’s precisely why you didn’t tell us.”

“We want you to be here as our witnesses,” explained Porthos. “This is the important bit. It’s not about table decorations and speeches and it certainly isn't about parties and presents. Athos and I need to be properly together. That’s it. No fuss required.”

“I’m so happy for you,” sniffed d’Artagnan who had, by now, wound herself around both Athos and Porthos and was hugging them with the strength and technique of a boa constrictor.

“Lovely as this cuddle might be, how about you let go so we can get unioned,” said Porthos.

“United surely?” said Athos. “Although I rather liked your idea of getting civilised. That was good.”

“Stop wittering and just get bloody married,” said Constance, shaking her head. “Everyone’s waiting for you and I know the Mairie shuts at one. Do you want to miss your own wedding ceremony?”

To be honest, ceremony was too grand a word for it, but the articles from the Civil Code, read by the mayor, were clear and concise, calling upon them to be faithful and commit to each other in an equal partnership. It wasn’t important to Athos to agree to them, or to hear Porthos’ own confirmation of the vows. It was simply that he needed everyone else in the world to recognise how vital they were to each other.

Twenty minutes later, with two yeses spoken in quiet response, Athos emerged into the sunshine with a husband on one arm and their _livret de famille_ and _extrait de mariage_ clutched in the other, rather sweaty palm. The small reception room in the Mairie had been packed out with friends and the remainder, who couldn’t manage to squeeze inside, cheered loudly as they descended the steps.

Bertrand’s place was heaving with well wishers and, doing his usual thing, Athos took a timeout from the chaos, sitting on the low stone wall of the church opposite, a glass of red in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Can I pinch one?” said Serge as he sat next to him. “I left mine back at work. Hope we don’t get too many orders in while we’re all out celebrating.”

“I think we can safely shut up shop for one day,” said Athos, lighting Serge’s Marlboro with a flick of his Zippo.

“It was a big deal round here when your father and mother got married,” said Serge, nodding back at the church. “Us lot were lined up to tug our forelocks. We weren’t even invited to have one drink with them afterwards. La révolution didn't mean bollocks back then. How things have changed.” He smiled at Athos. “Good thing too, in my opinion. Oh look. Here’s your other half come to find you. You’re under the thumb already, boss.”

Porthos was indeed approaching, meandering a little from the effects of the wine. For a big man he was a very cheap date.

“What’re you doing over here, babe?” he said. “You and me have some serious partying to do.”

Athos hoped for a second he meant back home at La Fère, but with a couple of drinks inside him Porthos was a gregarious man. Standing up, he stubbed out his cigarette and looped an arm around his brand new husband, nodding goodbye to Serge.

“I got something pretty on underneath my clothes and it’s just for you,” Porthos whispered, his breath warm and his words enticing, unravelling Athos’ senses. 

“Maybe I’m wearing something for you too,” he replied, relishing the constriction of the garment hidden beneath his shirt, but not as much as he delighted in that sudden look of longing on Porthos’ face. A big paw of a hand grabbed his arse and squeezed.

“You know what?” said Porthos in a voice roughened by sex. “Turns out I need to take you to bed right now.”

“We have plenty of time,” smiled Athos with a sudden change of heart. He wanted Porthos to enjoy this impromptu wedding celebration. After all, it would be the only one they’d ever have. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to spend together in bed.”

“I’m holding you to that,” murmured Porthos.

A few glasses of wine later, Athos found that he too was enjoying himself. Lacking the strict formality of most other receptions, the party was a free for all of drinking, toasts, food and more drinking. Following his instincts, he stood, banging a fork against his glass to gain everyone’s attention.

“I just wanted to say thank you for making our wedding into a proper occasion.”

“Especially your husband,” called d’Artagnan.

“Don’t worry.” Athos raised an amused eyebrow at her. “I’ll be thanking him in greater depth later this evening.” He smiled at Porthos. “As long as he’s not too drunk by then.”

Porthos made a show of filling his water glass and everyone laughed.

“Anyway,” continued Athos. “I don’t have much to say except to tell you all how grateful I am for the way you’ve helped me with my recovery. Every kind word and supportive shoulder has been invaluable, and if I sometimes forget your names or what you do for a living, please believe me when I say that I will never forget the love you’ve shown me, or the love that I have for you all.” He raised his glass again. “There that’s it. I’m done. Sentimental outburst now over.”

He sank exhausted into his seat. He’d been trying to pluck up the courage to say these things for a long time. He’d sat up on sleepless nights, trying and failing to form his emotions into a speech that would go some way to explaining how much he appreciated every single one of his friends. Now, here, on his wedding day he’d managed, on the spur of the moment, to say exactly what was needed.

“That was beautiful, my darling,” said Porthos, coming to sit next to him. “You’re my best husband ever.”

“How many have you had?” said Athos, resting his head on Porthos’ shoulder.

“Drinks or husbands?” chuckled Porthos.

The clamour from the other side of the room indicated that something was going on, but Athos was too mellow to move.

“Aye aye,” said Porthos. “Well there’s an unexpected development.”

“What’s that?”

“Have a look,” said Porthos.

Athos unwillingly lifted his head to discover Aramis on one knee in front of d'Artagnan. His expression was earnest and from the look on her face, d’Artagnan was taking the proposal most seriously. 

“I don’t know about this,” muttered Porthos. “They haven’t exactly been together long and it’s not exactly been plain sailing.”

“Now’s your time to launch an objection,” smirked Athos as he watched d'Artagnan and Aramis approach their table, holding hands as always, faces lit up with joy. He had no intention of saying anything judgmental. It wasn’t his place to interfere. D’Artagnan was her own person and only she knew whether Aramis was to be trusted. Athos had heard all the stories ad infinitum.

“Got carried away by the moment?” said Porthos dryly.

“Perhaps a little,” admitted Aramis. “Though my proposal was utterly sincere. D’Artagnan tells me I should ask your permission, Athos.”

Athos bridled at this. He could imagine nothing worse than treating a human being as chattel, even if it was only an antiquated formality. Porthos and he may have declared that they belonged to each other, but that was as part of a mutual and loving contract, not an offloading of goods. 

“Firstly, d’Artagnan, I’m not your father,” he said.

“You’re the best dad ever,” said d’Artagnan stubbornly.

“And secondly,” continued Athos. “You’re wrong. I must have been doing a poor job of parenting if you think it’s acceptable to allow someone to hand you over like a used car. I know it’s just a joke, but I’m not comfortable with it. If you want to marry Aramis, then go ahead, but do it for all the right reasons. Get married because you’re determined to spend the rest of your lives together and you want everyone to understand that.”

“That pretty much sums up what I had to say,” agreed Porthos, placing his hand on Athos’ shoulder.

“I promise I won’t ever hurt her again,” said Aramis. 

Athos’ third speech of the day was much shorter in length. “Good,” he said with a pointed look at Aramis. “I hope you mean that. Remember, I have an armory.”

“I’m not at all certain I didn’t like you more when you forgot my name and missed your mouth with the spoon,” said Aramis.

“Well, I love you most when you’re all stern and grumpy,” said d’Artagnan, kissing Athos on the cheek. “Do we at least have your blessing?”

“Bloody hell,” groaned Porthos. “Don’t get him started on God.”

Athos wondered silently what beef he had with religion. “I wish you all the best,” he said to d’Artagnan. “You’re a wonderful girl and you deserve to be happy.”

“And me?” Aramis raised his eyebrows.

“Be kind to her,” said Athos. “I’m sure you’re capable of it. You have a good heart. I’ve never thanked you for helping me get back on my feet.”

“No need,” said Aramis. “That’s what friends do.”

“So,” said d’Artagnan, perching on the edge of the table. “What was your proposal like? I bet it wasn’t half as romantic as mine.”

“Oh, it was,” said Porthos, smiling at Athos. “In its own way.”

\---

It was dark by the time they made their way back up the lane to the house. D’Artagnan and Aramis had found alternative lodgings for the night and Athos was relieved to hear this. He needed to wind down after a wedding day which had been weird, wonderful but also very exhausting.

“I’m shattered,” said Porthos as he closed the heavy front doors behind them. “What a crazy few hours.”

“Go sit down,” said Athos. “I’ll put the heating on and make us a cuppa.”

“I married the perfect man,” said Porthos as he toed off his shoes and padded to the study in stockinged feet.

Waiting for the kettle to boil, Athos opened the dresser drawer and located the ancient key to the vaults. He had no memory of this place until saying those words to Aramis, but now it had come back to haunt him, and using his phone as a torch he made his way into the underground chamber, brushing aside the cobwebs and leaning against the far wall to survey the stack of coffins.

“What are you doing down here?” said Porthos a while later. “It’s bloody freezing.”

“I don’t really know,” said Athos. “Serge was talking about my parents getting married in the village church and then I remembered this place. I wanted to see them.”

“And maybe say goodbye,” suggested Porthos astutely.

“Perhaps,” said Athos. “It’s the end of an era. La Fère is ours now.”

“You’re mine now,” said Porthos and his voice was a rumble of need echoing around the vault. “And I’m neither too tired nor too drunk for that ‘thank you’ I was promised earlier.”

More often than not there was an element of restraint in their sex, a slow tease, a whetting of the appetite with erotic play, but tonight was different and they fell on each other, plastering one another with greedy kisses, Porthos pushing Athos back against the wall, restraining him, tugging at buttons and divesting him of his shirt until he was wearing nothing but black trousers, dress shoes and corset.

The mood swiftly changed.

“Strip for me,” said Athos, holding Porthos at arms’ length.

By the light of the phone, he watched as Porthos demurely removed sweater, shirt and trousers until he was standing before Athos dressed in a white corset and stockings, garter around one thigh, his pants just the briefest of thongs, cock and balls tucked neatly into the cleverly designed pouch. 

“Turn around,” said Athos. “Let me see every part of my new husband.”

As Porthos spun a slow one eighty, the phone battery began to fail and the light flickered, giving everything a silent movie quality.

“Upstairs,” said Athos. “Go into the bedroom and kneel on the bed. Wait for me there.”

He followed Porthos up the stone steps, locking each iron gate behind him. The kitchen was empty by the time he emerged and he closed the entrance to the vault then replaced the key in the drawer. Suppressing the urge to race to the bedroom, he poured himself a cognac with hands that trembled from anticipation and then lingered over his drink, imagining Porthos waiting for him, cock thrusting against the lacy material of that thong.

Having washed his glass and then checked that all the doors were locked, he climbed the stairs to bed, stopping off for a piss and knowing that Porthos, only one open door away from the bathroom, would grow even more impatient listening to him relieve himself.

Leaning on the doorjamb he then drank in the sight of his beautiful man, shaven smooth to perfection, virginal in white, as he knelt willingly, waiting for him on the bed and showing off that perfect arse in all its glory.

“I am a lucky, lucky bastard,” he said, prowling around the bed and then coming closer, a step at a time, until he was near enough to reach out and stroke Porthos’ bum. “How do you want me?”

“Use me,” groaned Porthos. “I’m all yours. I’m so hard right now. Feel how hard my cock is for you.”

Standing behind him, Athos ran both hands appreciatively over that bare bum, teasing Porthos with a finger and at the same time ghosting a hand over the stiffness of his lace covered erection. It was a promise of more.

“You’re the most stunning man I’ve ever seen,” he remarked, hands moving languidly across Porthos’ back, kneading at tense shoulder muscles until he was whimpering and pushing back against him. “I can think of so many things I want from you,” he said as he continued with the massage. “I’d love you to kneel over me and bring yourself off on my face. I’d like to lick into you and make you come with my hand and my tongue. I want to wank over you again and again until I’m empty.”

Porthos was trembling, moaning slightly with every intake of breath. “Fuck me,” he begged. “I need your cock inside me right now. Please Athos. Please. Fuck me now.”

His control hanging by a thread, Athos knelt, tugging back the thong of the panties and then licking deep into Porthos. Shifting around until he was lying supine beneath him, he pushed up on his elbows and let his tongue glide, up and down, up and down, along the length of Porthos’ erection.

“Suck me, fuck me. Do something with me,” pleaded Porthos. “I _am_ going to come all over your face if you keep teasing me this way.”

Athos smiled. Seemed as if someone else was close to losing control. “On your back for me,” he said, watching as Porthos willingly complied.

He learnt forward, suckling at each nipple in turn as they peeped suggestively out of the neat little cups of the corset. Unzipping his trousers, he hooked his cock free and slicked up, thrusting in hard and feeling Porthos squirm with pleasure then bear down to accommodate him.

“No boxers?”

“Dirty as fuck underneath.” Athos grinned. “Just the way you like me.”

“You remembered,” said Porthos. “That was New Year.”

“I can see bits and pieces of it in my mind,” said Athos as he maneuvered them until Porthos was on top. “I occasionally remember entire conversations, but mostly it’s just a slideshow of images. Sometimes everything's mixed up and confusing and those days used to get me down, but now I think of you and I don’t need to panic, because the feelings I have for you are always with me and they’ll never go away no matter what happens.”

Listening intently to Athos, Porthos continued to ride him, stroking his face, tracing the lines of his corset, hands moving relentlessly to touch every part of him.

“My very own husband,” he said in wonder as he crouched over him.

They joined for a second time in a clash of mouths, bruising and rough, taking deep mouthfuls as they urged each on with every rock and roll of the hips, every gasp of breath and swipe of tongue. 

“Fuck,” cried Porthos as he reared up, arching backwards and grasping his cock then bringing himself off in thick white streaks that decorated the front of the featureless corset.

With a strangled cry of pleasure, Athos finished off inside him, raw with emotion as he blanked for a second or two, everything whiting out and then turning swiftly to black. He returned to the world with Porthos leaning up on an elbow and watching him carefully as he came to.

“It’s still seriously amazing when that happens, but, honest to god, Athos, it scares the living shit out of me now.”

“Petite mort rather than petit mal,” murmured Athos. He came round a little more and then smiled. “I’m fine. Come here, darling. Let’s sleep.”

“As we are?” asked Porthos, looking down at their spunk stained, lingerie clad bodies.

“Absolutely as we are,” said Athos, draping an arm around Porthos and pulling him close. “We couldn’t be more perfect if we tried.”

 

\---end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting on what was supposed to be a quick PWP. o.O This is officially the final chapter but I may post some role play ficlets at some point.
> 
> <3


	23. St Stephen's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Interlude. After a perfect Christmas Day, the boys take advantage of the empty house and have some fun with role play.

Woken by the rattle of a cup and saucer, Athos sat up in bed, yawning and stretching then smiling with unmitigated delight as he remembered finally having the Christmas Day he'd been longing for all his life.

"Your breakfast, my Lord."

Porthos waited beside the bed. He was dressed formally in black trousers and white shirt. His beard was neatly trimmed and the only unruly thing about him was the wildness of his hair. Athos looked at the breakfast tray with the riding crop laid carefully across it, then at the suit and corset which were hung neatly in front of the wardrobe door. Finally he looked at Porthos. Were they really going to do this?

"Will there be anything else, my Lord?"

It seemed they were. "Run my morning bath," said Athos as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Yes, my Lord," said Porthos, slipping discreetly out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Athos got out of bed and hunted in his wardrobe, pleased to find that his riding clothes and boots were still hidden away at the back, neither moth eaten nor smelling of damp. He'd feel more comfortable wearing these than the formality of a suit, more able to play, and with his measurements still the same as they'd been ten years ago, he knew they would fit.

Ten minutes later Porthos returned. "Your bath is ready, my Lord," he said without a hint of amusement and Athos found himself enjoying the game, despite the fact that roleplay was alien to him.

"Thank you, Porthos," he said, striding over to the door and then looking back at the man. "What are you waiting for? Help me wash and shave, then dress me. I know you're new to this, but surely you understand the role of a personal valet?"

"I do, my Lord. I apologise." Porthos looked down at his feet. "I'll try harder."

"And so you must," said Athos, glancing at him and then at the riding crop. "Now bathe me before the damn water gets cold."

He stood helplessly in the bathroom, waiting for Porthos to remove his pyjamas and then assist him into the tub. Falling into the role he allowed Porthos to wash every inch of him, dismissive as he swelled in response to Porthos' gentle attentions. After all, a servant's feelings weren't of any importance.

"Would you like me to run more hot water?" asked Porthos.

"No," said Athos. "Help me out and dry me off. I've already wasted enough of the day because of your ineptitude."

"I'm sorry, my Lord," said Porthos as he rubbed him all over with the bath towel, careful to make sure every crease of skin was taken care of. "I promise you I'm a quick learner."

"I hope so," said Athos, as Porthos held out the robe.

Back in the bedroom, Athos sat on the chair, resisting the urge to reach out for Porthos as he knelt to begin dressing him, socks first and then underwear. The pants were his normal style of boxers, but not a pair he'd seen before. Made of black silk, they clung to his damp body, the barely there fabric warm and enticing. His cock throbbed, thrusting upwards inside the silk, and neither he nor Porthos could take their eyes off the sight.

"These are new," he murmured.

"A Christmas gift, I believe," said Porthos. Retrieving the corset from the back of the door, he waited patiently for Athos to stand, allowing him to wrap the material around and hook it in place with trembling fingers.

"You're taking far too long." Athos toyed with his cock, letting it slide loose through his palm.

"It's fastened now, your Lordship," said Porthos, taking the suit jacket off its hanger.

"Not those," said Athos impatiently. "My riding clothes. We have a meet today."

Porthos fidgeted, the sight of Athos in corset and silk shorts having a rather obvious effect on him.

"In the wardrobe, man. Hurry up," snapped Athos.

Helping him on with the tight breeches and shirt, Porthos leant in close to fasten the buttons and tie the stock. Close enough that Athos could feel his arousal pressing against him. They looked at each other, caught up in the moment, and then Porthos stepped back, away from the danger zone, helping him on with his hunting jacket then kneeling to push his feet into the boots.

"Finally," said Athos, picking up the crop then marching out of the room and down the stairs.

Pouring himself a nip of brandy for effect, he lounged in one of the living room chairs, his leg cocked over an arm as he waited for Porthos to reappear.

When he did so, Athos stood and paced in front of the fire.

"Where are my grooms?" he demanded. "Where are all the staff, for that matter?"

"It‘s St Stephen's Day, your Lordship. Lady Constance gave everyone the day off," explained Porthos.

"Why my sister thinks she has the right to make decisions concerning the household, I have no idea," said Athos. He then rounded on Porthos. "So, why are you still here?"

"I have no family to visit, my Lord." Porthos shuffled uncomfortably.

"Stop fidgeting." Athos brandished the crop, whacking it into his palm. "You're a disgrace to your profession. Stand up straight and look at me."

"I can't, my Lord," said Porthos in a low voice.

“You will do as you’re told or be punished for it,” snarled Athos, the crop a heavy weight in his hand.

“I can’t.”

"Then take your trousers down and bend over."

"I won't," said Porthos. "You must not see me like this, your Lordship," he added urgently.

"I don't see you at all," said Athos. "You're a servant. Now do as you're told and take down your breeches."

Slowly, Porthos unfastened the catch and zipper, letting them drop to the floor. Beneath them he was wearing those ivory panties, his erection filling the lace channel and distending the front of the knickers. The suspender belt was hooked in place, stockings stretched across those beautiful brown legs.

Athos swallowed down the need to fall and worship at Porthos' feet. "What is the meaning of this?" he said. "Answer me, man."

"I believed it was my day off," stammered Porthos. "I did not realise I'd be required for service until it was too late and you had rung the bell. I never intended anyone to find out."

"Strip off," said Athos. "Show me the extent of your depravity."

"Please no, my Lord," begged Porthos. "I'll never wear anything like it again."

"Strip off," repeated Athos.

Porthos removed his shoes and trousers, folding them neatly and placing them on the table. He then began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes cast down as he took off the garment to reveal the bra underneath. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I swear I'll never do it again."

"Where would you get such things?" asked Athos. "Surely you would not have the gall to brazenly walk into a shop and buy them?"

"No, my Lord," said Porthos. "I stole them from the washing line. I’d seen them hanging there often and I couldn't stop thinking of them. I had to have them." He paused for a moment, staring defiantly at Athos.

"Why?" said Athos, rubbing a hand over his own stiff cock at the sight of Porthos standing there bold as brass all of a sudden.

"I find them arousing, my Lord." Porthos thrust his hips forward to emphasize his point. "As do you."

"Enough of this," said Athos. "Bend over the back of the chair. I will not put up with such insubordination from a member of staff." Casting aside his jacket, he untied the stock then untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, checking his ability wield the crop. "It's traditional, on St Stephen's Day, to give one's staff a bonus. This, my lad, is yours."

Drawing back his arm, heart hammering in his chest, he swung out, hearing the thwack of leather against skin.

"Harder," grunted Porthos, under his breath.

His cock now aching for release, Athos lashed Porthos again, the whip making contact with balls and bum, making him cry out in pleasure.

"Ten of the best should teach you to behave," he said in a cool voice, freeing himself from his riding breeches and clasping his silk clad cock as he swung back to strike Porthos a third time.

"Yes, my Lord," groaned Porthos. "Again."

By now Athos could see vague lines appearing across brown skin, but safe in the knowledge of his care taking, he rose to this challenge, the whip driving his man to a frenzy.

"More, please more," cried Porthos until Athos reached his limit and threw the crop aside.

"Sit on that table," he said pointing to the D-end against the wall. When Porthos eagerly complied, Athos nudged in between his spread thighs. "Have you learned your lesson?" he asked.

"Not yet, my Lord," breathed Porthos.

"Then lift your legs," said Athos.

Placing his palm across the hot damp front of Porthos' panties, he began a slow massage of that lace covered cock.

"You like the way I look in these undergarments, my Lord?" asked Porthos.

"You look obscene," said Athos, pulling the panties to one side and fingering Porthos open. Thankfully there was slick to hand. There was always slick to hand in this house. "I'm going to teach you a lesson for wearing such an indulgence when you're supposed to be on hand to serve me. What would you have done if I hadn't required you?"

"Masturbated in my room, your Lordship."

"All day?"

"All day, sir." Porthos looked at him. "I enjoy it."

"How you can admit to this so freely is beyond me."

"You do not enjoy taking yourself in hand?"

Athos found himself blushing at such a direct question. "You are-"

"I am what, your Lordship?"

Porthos wriggled against him, pushing insistently and with a thrust of the hips Athos was inside, fucking him with long controlled strokes.

"You're mine to do with as I see fit," growled Athos. God, it was outrageously good having him like this, slamming into him, the table crashing back against the wall.

"Yours."

That lace covered cock twitched enticingly and Athos reached for it, teasing him with delicate touches. 

"Teach me my lesson," said Porthos, looking up at him with excited eyes. "Teach me hard."

Athos spluttered, trying to suppress the laughter but it was hopeless, a lost cause, and he fell onto Porthos, howling until the tears ran down his face.

"Looks like I'll have to teach you a lesson instead, grumbled Porthos, hoisting Athos onto his shoulder and carrying him, still chuckling, over to the sofa. "You're wearing your riding gear," he said, pulling down Athos' breeches and pants and then seating him on his groin. "It won't be easy like this, laughing boy, but I'm sure you'll manage somehow."

"I'm sorry." Athos tried to recover his breath. "Teach me hard." That set him off all over again.

Roughly, Porthos pushed him back onto the couch, stripping him off from the waist down. ”On all fours for me," he said.

Athos knelt, humming with pleasure at the feel of a finger, sighing with relief as it was replaced by Porthos' cock. "I like it better like this," he admitted. He was a firm believer in reason rather than force.

"Me too," admitted Porthos, licking kisses onto Athos' shoulders. "But it was a fun experiment." Curving an arm around Athos' waist, he hauled him onto his knee. "I'd like some photos of you in this and the pants with the shirt open and those jodhpurs pulled down."

"Never going to happen," said Athos.

"Not even for me?" Porthos drew him in for a kiss.

"Maybe some private ones, just for you."

 

\---end


	24. The Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude. Porthos is devastated by Athos' rejection. He's not sure they'll ever recover from this. He's not sure he's strong enough to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to write about how Porthos helped Athos with his recovery. I almost did. :)

Every night, alone in his room with no one to witness his distress, Porthos cried. This wasn’t a soft expulsion of grief. Instead it took the form of heaving sobs of misery which he buried deep in his pillow, not wanting anyone to know the extent of his desperation. 

He should be happy. Athos was alive and healing. Every day his partner was taking small steps along the road to recovery. The problem was that Athos was no longer his and, because of it, Porthos was suffering from a unique form of bereavement. He recognised the symptoms, he’d felt exactly the same after his mother died, but that had been so much easier to cope with, because back then he was expected to mourn. This was different. He’d lost Athos, was grieving for him, and yet he was unable to give voice to his suffering. Rather than expressing himself, he packed his private collection of lingerie into a large suitcase and hid it at the back of a cupboard, along with those ragged emotions.

His friends weren’t stupid. They knew he was broken, breaking apart a little bit more each day, but he would never betray Athos, determined to fix a relationship that had once been magical. He would glue the damage back together, varnishing over the cracks until everything looked perfect once again.

“Stop doing this, Porthos,” pleaded Constance. “Tell him how you’re feeling. It’s not fair on either of you.”

Porthos however said nothing and instead he buried himself in work, avoiding the subject with the kind of resilience that had once assisted him through life.

D’Artagnan didn't help matters. Countless times, Porthos had overheard her one sided conversations with Constance, trying to work out ways to help her belovéd dad. Dads, because it was plural now. Two broken men who had once been everything to one another and were now worse than strangers.

Moving forward a few months, Porthos was managing to cry less frequently, locking away the grief, even from himself, and plastering a smile onto his face whenever people were around. He coped with the flinches by staying several feet away from Athos at all times. He was verbally affectionate, never losing his patience, but the physical rejection was too much to bear. They were no longer lovers and had now become little more than passing acquaintances. Athos seemed more comfortable with old Serge down at the factory than he was with him. 

The pain from this was rooted deep, a phantom limb that was no longer part of him. Secretly, disloyally, Porthos began to wish that they had broken up when things were rotten in London, never embarking on this new life in France. That way Athos would have been nowhere near Birmingham on that fucking awful day. If not his, he would at least be whole again.

At times his depression became so severe that he fell prey to devastating thoughts, wishing Athos dead just so that he could grieve out loud. For a split second, when Bill Rees had called to tell him the news he’d misunderstood, assuming that Athos had been killed by that taxi. The loss had been fleeting, a bubble surrounding him, starving him of air until he was suffocating, but however dreadful it was at the time, it was still better than this.

“I try so hard to wish you away, Ath,” he said in a late night confessional at his pillow. “But I can’t. I’m yours forever, better or worse.” Love was a burden, cruel and uncompromising in its determination to hold on.

With lingerie manufacturing back on track and the company a man down, life at La Fere was hectic. Grateful beyond belief for the perfect excuse, Porthos resorted to hiding, spending most of his time at the office, only going home to grab a bite to eat when absolutely necessary. Sometimes, unable to deal with so many personal problems, he slept on the sofa down there, covered by his jacket, too miserable to show his face in the house.

Constance tried her best. “Please, Porthos. He doesn’t mean to shut you out. You know what he’s like.”

But that was the crux of the problem. Porthos _didn’t_ know what Athos was like. Not anymore. Exhausted and depleted, he had nothing left to give.

He was trying to make sense of the accountant’s latest email when a shy voice disturbed his thoughts.

“You work too hard.”

Porthos froze, whisked back to a time when everything was idyllic. These words were an echo from the past. They’d more than made love the night before Athos left for England, they’d fucked hard and beautifully, Porthos dressed to kill and both of them up for everything. The image was vivid, cruel even, and he fought to compose himself. One day he would be over the worst, but not yet. He blinked away the tears. Perhaps never. “Sorry,” he said, head down and heart aching.

But then something extraordinary happened and Athos began to speak, slowly at first, fighting to free his memories one by one. Porthos held his gaze and listened and for the first time since the accident was finally able to comprehend how terrifying this experience was, to have an entire life erased and be expected to carry on as normal. There was so much he wanted to say, so much comfort he had to offer, but Athos’ best therapy was to talk.

“I know that I love you,” he explained. “I can feel it inside of me, but I’m frightened.”

“Of me?” Porthos had been distraught to discover that Athos wasn’t comfortable sharing a bed when he came home from hospital, but he’d never once considered that fear had played a part in this rejection. In his mind he grew into something looming and dark. A bogeyman, or worse.

“No, not you. Never you.” Tentatively, Athos described some of the old world that remained, accepting gentle encouragement from Porthos, assuring him that they were real. He talked about the pressures and that burgeoning sense of panic. The feeling of desperation that he could never be the person that Porthos had fallen in love with. That they would never again be that perfect couple.

Instinctively, Porthos reached for Athos’ hand, holding on tighter when for the first time in months there was no unsettling flinch. “Our relationship wasn't always that great, babe. We spent most of last year barely talking, let alone touching. Don't put us on a pedestal.”

“Really?”

“Really. We were a right mess.”

Now that the floodgates had been opened they couldn't stop talking, inching closer all the time, holding hands as they walked back to the house. Together.

Constance was discreet, overjoyed to see her friends healing at last, yet careful not to push things. She couldn’t however resist a hug.

“It’s a miracle. You actually listened to me for once,” was her single parting shot to Athos as she left them alone for the evening.

Nowadays, instead of hiding away in the office, Porthos raced through his workload in order to get home as quickly as possible. He liked it most when Athos spent all day with him, but understood that it was still early on in his recovery. Athos got tired very quickly and needed to rest. He also found the business confusing and rather daunting. No one was putting any pressure on him to return to work, but it was nevertheless frustrating.

The greatest cause of Porthos’ own frustration was saying goodnight at the bedroom door. He missed the sex--of course he did, he was red blooded young man with a healthy libido and a partner he adored--but it was going to sleep without Athos curled around him that he found hardest to cope with. He was lonely at night and lonelier still when he woke in the mornings. He was, however, willing to wait -- forever if necessary. 

Athos might be having to relearn many things, but Porthos was finally remembering how to smile. Happiness grew from a seed, coiling around them and twining them back together. It was a slow and beautiful reunion, Porthos understanding that it was necessary to let Athos have room to fail, safe in the knowledge that he would always be there to catch him.

There was just one stumbling block that remained and it was a big one to overcome -- big enough that it terrified Porthos whenever he allowed it headspace. As a couple they were comfortable being close, but had not yet moved things on any further. Porthos wanted Athos. He’d wanted him from the moment he laid eyes on him so it was only natural, but the last thing he intended to do was push him into returning to bed before he was ready. Their relationship had been unconventional to say the least and this might prove off-putting to someone with an impaired memory. He’d be happy making love the old fashioned way for the rest of their lives, but at some point Athos would remember their past--he was already close to it at times--and a blatant omission of facts, however well intended, was no different to a lie.

Time proved to be a healer of wounds. Slowly and steadily they bridged the gap, offering each other trust and love, until before long sex was back on the table. It was also back on the sofa, the floor and up against every available wall space, but a part of Porthos remained apprehensive. As of yet, Athos had shown no interest in lingerie and had never even glanced at a catalogue. Memories of their past came and went, partial and fleeting, giving rise to hope, but they were few and far between. Having his belovéd man back was more than enough for Porthos. He could live happily without dressing up for the rest of his life, but he was convinced that when Athos eventually remembered everything, he would be disgusted by their games. 

Pushing aside his worries, Porthos took Athos to bed one night and gave him a thorough recounting of their history, complete with pictures, shooing the elephant out of the room for good. Honesty also allowed him the opportunity to vent his spleen. He felt guilty at revealing how utterly miserable he had been feeling, but Athos listened carefully to every word, that sweet nature of his coming to the fore. All this truth telling had a definite upside. Athos’ enjoyment of Porthos dressed to kill was very much apparent, and soon enough they were once again vying for the title of kinkiest couple in France.

“Is this new?” asked Athos, rolling back the pleats of the kilt and looking up at Porthos. “Does my fucked up brain have something to do with me wanting to suck you off for hours on end?”

“Nope.” Porthos carded his fingers through Athos’ hair and grinned. “You always were a whore for me in tartan, darling.”

After walking in on them once too often, Constance presented them with a set of do not disturb signs, one for every door in the house, but it was all too easy to forget in the heat of the moment.

“Boys,” she snapped, discovering Athos down on his knees, worshipping at the altar of Porthos in miniskirt and heels. “For the sake of my sanity, can’t you at least try?”

“It’s part of my therapy,” replied Athos, an old fashioned smirk on his face.

God, Porthos loved him so damn much he could cry -- this time for all the _right_ reasons.

Athos and his memory loss would always be a work in progress. There was nothing Porthos hated more than seeing a look of blind panic appear on that handsome face when his partner knew he was supposed to remember something, but failed to get a glimmer of it. Impotent to help, Porthos could do nothing but be there as a comforter.

It wasn’t so bad when it came to their personal lives. He talked a lot more nowadays, especially during sex, filling in the blanks and making Athos laugh at some of the antics they’d got up to in the past. His favourite stories involved the ones of them sexting at work which he found hilarious for some reason. Porthos was tempted to try it just for kicks, but Athos was a failure at phones and would often get Constance to open his messages for him. She'd probably not want to see a dick pic during office hours, even if it was poking out of one of her new designs.

Coping with technology wasn’t the only hurdle to surmount. Leaving Athos alone to man the office for the first time was terrifying. Lurking close by, in case of emergency, Porthos allowed his fledgling to fly the nest, answering phone calls and trying to deal with the usual barrage of queries over sizing and dispatch.

“I can’t fucking do this fucking shit storm of a job,” yelled Athos, stomping out of the office in a rage after hanging up on Bill Rees.

Despite everything, Porthos grinned. Athos’ new habit of swearing like a merchant seaman amused him no end. He scuttled for cover in the warehouse to hide the fact that he had been monitoring the situation from close range.

“Yeah, you can,” he said, soothing Athos with kisses and hugs. “Now tell me what happened.”

“Bill wanted to know about the design change for something or other?” 

Athos’ pout was too adorable for words and Porthos fought off the desire to take him straight to bed. It would be fun, but it wouldn’t help matters much. 

“I put him on hold permanently,” his partner continued. “I’m done with this crap.”

“No, you’re not. Ring him back and sort it out,” said Porthos, calming the storm. His instinct was to take over and solve the issue, but that was a bad idea.

“How can I sort it out when I don’t even know what he wanted?” shouted Athos and he may have been angry, but he didn't attempt to pull away from the comfort of Porthos’ arms.

“Did you take notes?”

“Yes. Sort of,” came the grudging answer.

“Let’s go and read them,” reasoned Porthos. “Then you can call Bill back and tell him what he needs to know.” He could feel his own phone vibrating on and off in his back pocket and guessed who was trying to get hold of him, but he had no intention of answering. Instead they walked back to the office together, hand in hand as always.

“This is useless,” said Athos a few minutes later. “I can’t understand a word. I can’t even write legibly.”

“You never could.” Porthos, who’d had six years to decipher that elongated spider scrawl, read out Athos’ notes from the scribble pad. “It’s about the Zanzibar range. Bill wants to know whether we need him to implement those changes immediately.” He sat back, waiting for Athos to come to a decision.

“I think in time for next season’s catalogue?” he said tentatively. “You and Constance were talking about it a couple of days ago, right?”

“We were,” said Porthos, pushing him back against the desk and kissing him thoroughly. “Now go phone Bill and tell him exactly that.”

“With this?” complained Athos, splaying a hand across his private parts which were on a current state of alert.

“Work first, play later,” said Porthos.

This was just the incentive Athos needed. It also heralded a return of his confidence, and before long he was up to speed with the business, prepared to make decisions and implement changes. Porthos dreaded the day when he decided to travel to meetings rather than conduct them by phone. He would not be going alone. He would have a hand to hold all the way there and back.

“Am I very different?” Athos asked one day when they were cuddled together in the hammock, enjoying the peace of the woods. “You say not, but I think I must be.”

“Not to me,” said Porthos. “Not now.” He considered his words carefully. This was important to Athos and he shouldn’t dismiss it. “You have the kindest heart of anyone I’ve known. You’re gorgeous and I adore every bit of you, but it’s your soul I fell in love with and that part of you will never change.”

“Even when I'm bad tempered and foul mouthed?” 

“Even then.” Porthos hugged him tightly. “When everything was going wrong I tried really hard not to love you,” he confessed. “But it was impossible. I was so miserable without you and I wanted to cut out the part of you that lived inside me, but I couldn't do it. I’ll always be yours, for better or worse.” It was a moment of catharsis. He needed to say these words as much as Athos needed to hear them.

“I thought that if I pushed hard enough you’d go,” said Athos. “I couldn't understand why you’d want to stay with a wreck like me.”

“You’ve been saying that for six years.” Porthos kissed the top of Athos’ head. “Are you ever going to give it a rest?”

“Maybe it’s time.” Athos turned carefully, letting gravity draw them together.

“So, I’ve finally proved myself.” Porthos kissed him again. “And all it took was one lousy car accident and some major brain trauma.”

Could life get any better?


End file.
